Seasons of Love
by Holly-chan
Summary: From friends to lovers, follow the relationship of Legam Amell and Leliana during their fight against the Blight and onwards. LelianaxMale!Amell. Complete. Reviews are much appreciated.
1. Early Spring

_Author's notes: These shorts were written to accompany fan arts I drew for a 12-part series looking at the evolution of my male!Amell's companionship with Leliana from Lothering to the Calling. Perhaps because I am a recent graduate with a Bachelor's degree in Fine Arts in Visual Art, but I actually look at these as a fan art series first and formost, despite all I've written for it._

_Because these were written to accompany the art, I originally didn't intend to add them to FanFiction. However, when I saw the sea of Alistair fiction (and I like Alistair, don't get me wrong) and a sad lack of Leliana works, I decided to add this series here. I ask that you please check out the accompanying fan art though, as I put as much work into them as these writings. _

_You can find the first fan art here (remove spaces because FanFiction's stupid about links): __**hollychan. deviantart. com/ art/ Seasons-of-Love-Early-Spring-155457816**_

_So far I've completed the first five parts of the planned twelve. The sixth image is finished, but I've yet to write its accompanying story. The other half of the series has the base colors down for the works, so I should (hopefully) finish this within the next week or so._

_Without further ado, I hope you enjoy my brief return to fan fiction writing in quite some time. :)_

~*~*~

Streams of orange-red light streamed over the hilltops, the sun slowly descending behind them. Legam raised his hand to the side of his face, shielding his eyes as one particularly bright ray blinded him before disappearing beyond the horizon. His vision slowly returning into focus, the Rivaini mage turned his head to look back at his traveling companions.

Alistair, his fellow Grey Warden and deliverer of witty comebacks, stared at his feet while he walked. No doubt the events at Ostagar still rattled him, despite their earlier conversations and Legam's attempts to raise his spirits. The mage understood; to suddenly lose one's family – or, well, the equivalent thereof, at least – so suddenly and so mercilessly… It brought back Legam's unpleasant memories of his early days at the Circle, when his old life at home ended and his days at the tower began. He shook his head, flinging the thoughts from his mind, lest he too become morose.

His gaze then fell onto Morrigan, the odd and scantily clad witch from the Korcari Wilds. She joined when her mother, Flemmeth, ordered her to assist the Grey Wardens in their mission against the Blight. The younger apostate joined reluctantly, and already made it apparent that social graces were certainly not something abominations of legend teach their daughters. Still, she fought by their side with great skill and confidence, which was more than Legam could say for himself. Even after Ostagar, Legam fought hard to resist the urge to flee the minute death came rampaging at their door. Whatever the witch's attitude, Legam appreciated her aid.

Benjamin, the Mabari that re-imprinted himself upon Legam and joined them on the road after leaving the Wilds,  
casually pranced alongside his new master. Viscous and deadly in combat, as he was bred, the warhound proved sweet and even-tempered (if a tad manipulative with food) otherwise. Currently, he watched the road ahead, his tongue hanging lazily outside his mouth. Legam allowed himself a smile at Benjamin's demeanor, scratching the Mabari behind the ears. The hound responded with a short, cheerful bark.

Legam chuckled, turning his gaze towards Sten. A… Qunari, was it? He vaguely recalled reading about the Qunari people in some old history tome back at the Circle, but retained little other than their kind warred constantly with the Imperium, and practiced a philosophy very unlike that of the Chantry's teachings. Legam rubbed his short, trim beard in thought. In fact, he was fairly certain he heard that his own people, the Rivaini, once battled with the Qunari, but eventually brought peace and even adapted some of their ways. Perhaps his parents, immigrants from Rivain, knew more about that – if they were even still around to speak with him. He shrugged, knowing as little about his own roots as he did the stoic warrior walking behind him.

Finally, the mage turned to their last party member, Leliana. Though she joined their group before Sten, Legam knew less about her than he did the Qunari. Earlier, she chatted cheerfully with Alistair as they walked out of Lothering. Now the red haired human hummed softly to herself, serenely observing the setting sun. Legam thought back to her assistance in Dane's Refuge. Where a lay sister learned to fight like that, he had no inkling… But she offered no explanation, and he didn't feel like prying too much at the moment.

While her past remained her right to keep, Legam admitted that her… Interesting claims about the Maker and vision stoked his curiosity. For the past several hours, he kept his nosiness to himself, but he felt his willpower draining the more he contemplated it. Finally, curiosity won out, and Legam slowed his pace, soon falling into stride with the robed woman.

Leliana raised a ginger eyebrow at his approach, a questioning smile lifting the corner of her lips. "Yes?" she prompted, reading his face and knowing an inquiry dangled at the tip of his tongue.

"I wanted to talk to you about something." Suddenly, he felt like an intruder, breaking her peaceful contemplation to pester her with his prying.

She chuckled, gesturing lightly at herself, "Well… Here I am." Her heavy Orlesian accent coated every word. The last time Legam heard such a voice was… Six or seven years ago, when mages for the Orlais Circle came to visit Irving on business. A lovely inflection, Legam decided. One he heard far too little.

He mentally slapped himself for the derailment of thought, and cleared his throat. He decided to get straight to the point. "About this vision of yours…"

Leliana frowned, dreading the direction looming ahead, "I knew this would come up sooner or later…" She sighed, "I don't know how explain it, but I had a dream…" The lay sister looked away from her leader, clenching her fist to her chest. How could she explain this without appearing to be ridden with some form of insanity?

"In it, there was an impenetrable darkness. It was so dense, so real. And there was a noise, a terrible, ungodly noise…" She shivered, recalling the chill that ran down her spine, even in the midst of her dreams. Leliana continued, "I stood on a peak and watched as the darkness consumed everything… and when the storm swallowed the last of the sun's light, I… I fell, and the darkness drew me in."

Legam stopped, intrigued by her tale. Both hands gripped his staff as the mage leaned into it, raising an eyebrow. "You dreamt of the Blight?"

"I suppose I did. That is what the dream was, no?" The Orlesian nodded. "When I woke, I went to the chantry's garden, as I always do. But that day, the rosebush in the corner had flowered…" She waved her hand, spreading her fingers out in pantomime of a budding rose.

"Everyone knew that bush was dead. It was grey and twisted and gnarled—" Her fingers curled, mimicking the plant's malformed state, "—the ugliest thing you ever saw, but there it was – a single, beautiful rose."

"It was as if the Maker stretched out His hand to say, 'Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith.'" A wide, serene smiled spread across Leliana's face, thoughts of the Maker's love lifting her spirits and bolstering her confidence in her vision.

Still tangled in her woven web of recollections, Legam nonetheless continued his query, "And this made you want to help me?"

She placed a hand to her chin, reaching further into her mind to pull back the remnants of her vision. "In my dream, I fell or… or maybe I jumped… I'd do anything to stop the Blight. I know that we can do it." She looked up at the mage, smiling confidently with a short nod. "There are so many good things in the Maker's world. How can I sit by while the Blight devours… everything?"

The woman had great conviction in her beliefs, Legam couldn't deny that. Still, the thought of the Maker taking an active role in His creation once more was… Strictly speaking, heresy. "The Chantry says the Maker has left us."

"He is still here; I hear Him in the wind and the waves, I feel Him in the sunlight that warms my skin." She tilted her head, accepting the soft breeze that fluttered her hair. How others could not feel His love all around them, she never understood. "I know what the Chantry says about the Maker, and what should I believe? What I feel in my heart, or what others tell me?"

Legam stared at the road ahead, silent for a moment, absorbing all that she said. Though a devout man of the Chant, Legam found her views perplexing, yet… Not offensive. Certainly not bothersome enough to condemn or mock her. The mage looked back at the young woman, smiling supportively. "Believe what feels right to you, Leliana."

Leliana returned his sincere grin with one of her own. "Thank you. It's nice to find someone who agrees." She looked back at the setting sun, a great weight lifting off her chest, glad to have shared her vision with someone who didn't judge her for it, or her unorthodox views. "I know what I know, and no one will ever make that untrue."

Legam followed her gaze, seeing the last few red rays of daylight vanish past the far off hills. As its warmth left them and the chill of the evening began to settle, Legam felt his thoughts meandering once more. Perhaps… Perhaps there was something to his new companion's beliefs. He found it quite hard to witness the beauty of the sunset and the emerging stars and believe their creator would abandon them. He… Had much to think on.

The darkness of night flowed over towards them, and Legam shook himself from his contemplation, noticing their other companions were waiting ahead. The mage turned back to Leliana once more.

"Come," his head and hand gesturing onwards. "It is getting late and we will need to break for camp soon. Let us catch up with the others."

Leliana chortled lowly, "Of course. After you, Grey Warden. I'm right behind you."


	2. Mid Spring

Thump!

A simple sound. One that barely moved the air around them, yet shook the very core of Leliana's soul.

Thump!

The reverb of an arrow striking its target, understated, yet nonetheless deadly.

Thump!

The noise of an object… or of a body… striking the ground after a brief fall.

Thump!

The signal to a chapter's end in the storybook of the young bard's life. Dumbfounded, numb, Leliana stared upon the body of her former master in unparalleled shock. She stood still, rigid and rooted to the floor. A wave of raw emotion smacked her, sending her back to her days in Orlais.

The letter… Those damn letters! They spelled out danger for Marjolaine. Panic grasped at her soul upon the realization that she held the very fate of her mentor and love within her small hands.

Ease! The letters secured, out of reach from the Orlesian authorities. Marjolaine was safe, and Leliana felt reassurance in her teacher's promise that the days of her treasonous dealings were long past.

Betrayal! Cornered and confronted by an entire patrol of guards, the red headed woman knew instantly her beloved had framed her. Left her to the mercies of angered soldiers.

Unspeakable pain. The authorities of Orlais knew the art of torture well. Days, weeks passed in dank cells far below the surface, beyond the Maker's warm light. Each hour filled with a new, ungodly torment. Lashings, finger breakings, dislocations and resettings, limb-stretchings; tortures Leliana knew no name for… These and far worse the bard suffered until her resolve cracked and she confessed to crimes of treason she knew another committed.

Tension. Splinters from her food bowl served as crude lockpicks, springing open the mechanisms to her cell door. It opened with a low creak, and she bit her lip, afraid a guard would hear. She waited a moment, exhausted but ready to fight if need be. No one appeared. Inhaling deeply, she slipped into the shadows, away from her captors and nightmares.

Despair. Alone on the road, trudging ahead through the downpour and winds, she hugged her cloak against her shivering body. It was a crude, simple garment – stolen back in Orlais after fleeing the dungeons to conceal her face from the patrolling guards. While glad to be free of their reach, Leliana nonetheless missed the bright Orlesian sun, the menagerie of colors in Val Royeaux. Miserable, she squinted through the driving rain, roaring winds clawing and her face and tangling her ginger locks.

Hope. The Chant of Light rang over the bellowing winds. The bard shadowed her eyes with her hand, peering further through the storm. Faintly, an outline of a town, of buildings ahead. Shelter! With newfound energy, she trudged through the muck and up to the chantry's doors.

Peace and serenity. Two long years of it. The quiet of the chantry, except in the low hums of hymns and sermons. No more assassinations, no more seductions, no more putting on masks to deceive the unwitting. No more manipulation, from her or Marjolaine. Just tranquility, and love in the Maker's house.

Worry. Her dream, her vision. The Blight threatened all that she held dear. After Ostagar, refugees swarmed into Lothering, and Leliana saw the despair written upon their faces. She knew that look well: one of loss and utter anguish. Pity gripped her heart, as did sorrow.

Faith. The rosebush drove her towards it as a beacon. The small miracle gleamed radiantly amongst the dead, dried brambles. Leliana hesitantly reached out, her fingers tracing the petal's soft edges.

Determination. Confident in her duty, she left the comfort of the Chantry and headed towards Dane's Refuge. No  
hunger or thirst gripped her body, but her spirit promised her duty, her destiny, began within the tavern.

Relief! The Grey Wardens brought her into their fold, with few questions asked. The Rivain mage, their leader, accepted her claims and bore no judgment against her.

Gratitude. The mage's light, somewhat awkward flattery on her beauty amused her. It brought back memories long forgotten. For once though, they were pleasant memories.

Amusement. The mage, Legam's, curious inquiries into her past brought out her inner minstrel once more. She  
gladly shared her stories and life experiences. Despite her comfort, Leliana's shields still rose, and she misled the Grey Warden about her journey to Ferelden.

Guilt. Her lies about her past ate at her. Legam's sincerity and easygoing acceptance of her life as a bard made  
him a quick and erstwhile companion to confide in. That she lied about Marjolaine ate away at her conscience.

Relaxation. Finally unveiling the truth about her past to her loyal friend eased her mind. Legam's understanding of her misguidance and situation only further put her guilt to rest. For the first time since Lothering, she felt truly  
at ease.

Trepidation. The inept assassin was sent to kill her, not the Grey Wardens. Marjolaine. No other person in Thedas who might want her dead used such tactics. Denerim. She must go there, and put everything to rest.

Anger. Accusations against her character, misguided acts of vengeance. The sheer arrogance of Marjolaine, to  
think that she would care about the treasonous papers after all these years? How dare Marjolaine attempt to undermine her friend's trust. Thankfully, Legam proved more loyal, sticking by Leliana's side and brushing aside Marjolaine's claims.

Satisfaction. Her arrow sinking into Marjolaine's heart, cutting off its life-giving flow. Her former bard master's broken and bleeding body lying at her feet, dead by her hand.

Fear. Revelry over the death of another? Perhaps Marjolaine was right. Perhaps they weren't so different. Leliana's lip quivered. Her old life, every mistake, every sin… All lay bare before her. She was unworthy of the Maker's love. She was unworthy of redemption. She was unworthy of Legam's friendship and trust—

A firm, yet gentle hand clapped down on her shoulder, breaking her onslaught of memories and worries. Leliana turned her head to see her dear friend, mage and Grey Warden. Legam looked down at his feet, though she still read his expressions quite clearly: sorrow, sympathy, support. She exhaled, breathing again for the first time in several moments.

Leliana turned her gaze back to Marjolaine's body. Again disbelief and dozens of other emotions drove at her, but in slower, more bearable waves. She searched for words, finally finding her voice.

"It's… It's over. She's… Dead. Dead because of me…" Leliana shook her head, the reality of the situation still not quite settled with her. "I… Need some time to think. We…" She turned her head back towards Legam, their eyes meeting. "… Will talk later."

He nodded silently, solemnly. His hand slid off her shoulder, gesturing towards the door.

Thump! Thump!

The sound of heavy footsteps, weighed down by their owner's shock.

Thump! Thump!

The beating of a weary heart, burdened by the long road past, and the even longer one yet to come.

Thump! Thump!

The soft footsteps of a friend, close behind and ever ready for support.

At least, she mused, there was someone ready to hear her woes – when she finally voiced them. Leliana smiled briefly at this thought before her worries returned and ensnared her mind once more.


	3. Late Spring

Legam seated himself upon the cool log, a warm bowl of stew clutched in his hands. Warmth from the central campfire licked at his face, breaking the dull chill of night. The young mage sighed, staring into his dinner with some trepidation. Most nights, cooking duties fell to Morrigan or Alistair. Sometimes he or Leliana helped, but tonight was all Alistair's work. Legam picked at the gray gunk, contemplating it. His fellow Grey Warden claimed it was lamb and pea stew, but Legam doubted the taste matched his expectations.

Bolstering his courage, the mage dipped his spoon into the muck and quickly brought it to his lips, before his senses made him rethink his action. His face scrunched, bitter, gooey liquid and mushy clumps of meat and vegetable passing through his mouth. He quickly downed the rest of his meal, taking his water pouch and quickly drowning away the taste from his mouth.

Leliana's melodious giggles lifted over the soft cackles of the fire. Legam looked up to see his dear friend, the Orlesian bard, standing nearby. A knowing, sympathizing smile curved her lips. She rolled her eyes, head motioning to their templar comrade across the way, greedily devouring his meal.

_I know: Alistair's cooking remains lackluster, though he does not seem to care._ Her eyes said wordlessly. Legam snickered lowly, shaking his head in amused agreement. Scooting further downside the log, he patted the empty space next to it, offering his companion a seat. Leliana nodded and took his silent offer, settling down a foot or two away from him.

The bard folded her hands comfortably in her lap, leaning closer towards the heat of the fire. She contemplated the flames for a few moments, a content silence permeating the air around them. Legam knew the quiet would break eventually: Leliana rarely went without talking for long. He didn't mind it so much: Whether the bard regaled him with interesting lore, rambled about shoes, or gushed about something particularly adorable, he enjoyed listening to her. Even Leliana's less engaging tangents carried a subtle sort of melody to them. Perhaps it was her mistral skills, or perhaps it was the foreign aspect of her voice that drew him. Whatever the reason, the mage kept an open ear to Leliana's idle musings.

Leliana leaned back in her perch, her vision turning from the fire towards the night sky. As expected, after a few more moments of reflection, she turned her gaze to him and spoke. "The stars are out."

A rather uncharacteristic curt and obvious statement, Legam paused to ponder the underlying observations. With Leliana, such brief phrases often carried deeper meaning. He turned his emerald eyes to the heavens, inspecting the small stars that scattered the blue-black sky. They glittered in the twilight: delicate, simple yet beautiful. For a moment Legam forgot about the impeding evil of the darkspawn and their Blight; the death, the violence… All faded in the soft glow of the distant stars.

"There is still beauty to be found in this world." He finally replied, the corners of his mouth stretching into a gentle grin.

Leliana returned his smile, tilting her head in agreement. "It comforts me to know that the stars will remain untouched by the Blight—that whatever happens down here, they will shine eternally, their light undimmed." She scanned the skies, pointing to a small constellation in towards the north. "There is a story about that cluster of stars over there. Do you know it? Alindra and her soldier?"

Legam wracked his brain, trying to recall. His instructors and the books back at the Circle taught him much about the arcane, old languages and general history. Unfortunately, fairy tales were something the libraries decidedly lacked. The Rivain spell caster always lamented this, as he greatly enjoyed stories of legend and fancy. He shook his head, unable to come up with a connection – but now curious and eager to listen. "Tell me the story."

Leliana looked back up towards the sky, beginning her tale. "A long time ago, there lived a fair maiden called Alindra. She had many suitors, but spurned them all, for she did not love them."

"One day, Alindra was sitting by her window in her father's castle, singing and dreaming, when her lovely voice caught the attention of a young soldier." Legam leaned forward, already enthralled by her skillful story weaving.

"Entranced by her song, the soldier drew near to Alindra's window. As their eyes met, he fell in love with her, and she with him." She smiled sweetly – the thought of a pure, instant love appealed to her romantic nature. The bard's smile faded, continuing towards the tale's downturn. "When Alindra told her father about the man she had chosen, he was furious, for Alindra was high-born, but her love nothing more than a common soldier."

Legam, fully swept up by her words now, felt distress seep into the corners of his heart. He rested his chin upon his fist, keeping his attention focused on his minstrel friend. She continued, "To keep them apart, he had Alindra imprisoned in the highest tower of his castle and sent her soldier to the wars."

Leliana sighed sorrowfully. "Alas, not a month had passed before news of the soldier's death reached Alindra." Though her vision remained focused on the fires before her, her peripherals indicated her audience remained captive. "Alone in her tower, Alindra wept for her love and beseeched the gods to deliver her from this cruel world."

"So earnest was her pleas that the gods themselves were moved. They gathered Alindra into heir arms and lifted her high into the heavens, where she became a star." The redheaded woman turned back towards the sky above, gesturing at Alindra's cluster.

"The gods also raised up the soul of Alindra's soldier love and there he dwells, across the horizon from her. The band of stars between them is a river of Alindra's tears, cried for her lost love." She moved her finger, drawing an invisible line to connect Alindra's star with her soldier's.

"They say that when Alindra has cried enough, she will be able to cross the river to be reunited with her soldier." Leliana finished her tale, turning her bright eyes back to the man seated beside her. Awestruck, he looked back up at the constellation, mouth slightly agape.

"That's a beautiful story." He murmured.

Pleased by his reaction, Leliana grinned and nodded amiably. "This story is one of my favorites, a tale of a love so great and so enduring that it defies death, and moves the gods to action." She followed Legam's gaze back to Alindra's star, contemplative. "Sometimes I ask myself, does such a love exist? Can it exist?" The bard shrugged, her question's intent double-sided. Though she did indeed often wonder such, she voiced these ponderings to probe Legam's thoughts on the same subjects… Without actually asking him outright.

He sated her curiosity, shaking his head and running a swarthy hand through his short hair. "If we lose hope in love, then we are truly lost."

His reply took Leliana by surprise. "I never expected you to say that." Though anyone needed only a few minutes to note the mage's good natured temperament and kindness, Legam never struck her as a fellow romantic. "It is… a pleasant surprise."

The Grey Warden cocked an eyebrow at her. Usually, people wrote him off as rather sentimental due to his kindhearted nature. "Why is it a surprise?"

Leliana pursed her lips, tapping her chin as she searched for clarification. "I have to say there is a certain severity to you. Finding a person behind that all is nice." She winked at him, both mirthful and sincere. "Maybe you should let your softer side show more often. Sometimes following your heart, not your head, leads you to remarkable places."

He laughed, "Softer side? My dear friend, pay more attention and you'll find I don't have much more to me than that. Morrigan and Oghren already tease me relentlessly about my apparent sappiness."

Leliana giggled. "Well, it is true that you prefer talking your way out of trouble than fighting, and you frequently help those in need, even when it is not related to darkspawn. Still…" She turned back to the fire, "I have seen you use your magic to burn, electrocute, freeze, sometimes even explode darkspawn and other enemies in combat. That's not exactly 'soft,' now is it?"

Legam scratched his beard thoughtfully, "Perhaps not… Though I do it because I hate combat. I wish to end any threat to my friends and innocents quickly." He shrugged, frowning. "I suppose it can be rather ruthless in technique, regardless, hm? Sometimes I envy Wynne's healing capabilities. I would much rather use my magic to aid others, not hurt them. Alas, the Maker deigned to gift me with control over the elements."

"True, elemental spells can be quite destructive… But at least you reserve them for when there is no alternative, and you do not seek to make others suffer. It is just tactics, no?"

He sighed, slightly sullen when he thought of the pain his arcane abilities probably put others through in battle. "Yes, it is tactical, but does that make it right to—"

"Ah, and there's that somberness seeping in!" She shouldered him teasingly. "And you wonder why I say there's some severity to you." Leliana chuckled. "Do not let such things burden you – were you not the one who said I strive to do good, and that's what counts? I can say the same of you."

Legam laughed, his spirits lifting once more. "Ha! Caught in my own words, hm? You speak truly. I much prefer laughter to sulking, in any case." He shouldered her back, smirking. "Thank you for the tale and discussion, Leliana."

"Any time, my friend. You are ever the captive audience, no matter what I speak of."

"Well, you are a joy to listen to." Legam smiled warmly, his words and grin sending a small rush of warmth and appreciation through Leliana. "In any case," The mage rose from his perch on the log, stretching. "I believe our turn for watch approaches. Shall we continue this later?" He offered his hand.

"Of course." She clasped her hand in his, pulling herself up to stand beside the mage. "Let's just hope Alistair's cooking doesn't force us to abandon our post prematurely."

"Indeed! Last time I spent the night thinking my bowels would tear apart the rest of my insides!" Legam smirked at the memory, despite the unpleasant experience.

"Hey!" Alistair's undignified protest chirped from beyond the bonfire.

Legam and Leliana shared a good laugh at the ex-templar's expense, walking off into the dark, their evening duty awaiting.


	4. Early Summer

The canopy of trees above cloaked the travelers in shade, save for small streaks of light breaking through gaps in the leaves. Legam sighed, rubbing his head. They'd entered the Brecilian Forest six days ago, hoping to find one of the many wandering Dalish clans. Though they already recruited aid from the dwarves and mages, Ferelden's only Grey Wardens knew they needed every last ally they could gather against the Blight.

Trudging through the rugged forest path, Legam wondered how much time they had before the archdemon surfaced. He already knew the tainted Old God truly commanded the darkspawn legions: aside from his taint-induced nightmares, their journey down the Deep Roads eventually brought them to the Dead Trenches. Shortly after their arrival, they spotted the thousands of darkspawn below… And then the monstrous dragon flew from the depths in all its unholy glory. Thankfully, the archdemon took no note of the Wardens and their comrades, focusing instead on its legions.

Legam shivered at the recollection. Their trek to the Dead Trenches occurred five months ago; if the archdemon was so active back then, how soon before it ventured out to the surface? Grumbling mentally, he cursed the reclusiveness of the Dalish. Perhaps if he wore a gigantic sign that flashed, "GREY WARDEN" around his neck, the nomadic elves would make an appearance and offer assistance. Ha! If only.

The Rivaini Warden shook his head in amusement at his ridiculous notions. Best not to dwell on it before his mood truly soured. Looking over at his companions, he noticed most distracted themselves with small talk. A fine plan – chat always distracted his mind from incessant worries. Smiling slightly, Legam knew exactly where to turn for the most engaging conversation.

Scanning the party again, he quickly spotted Leliana. She marched softly only a few feet behind him, humming some unknown tune while she scanned the trees. Whether she looked for elves or just enjoyed the view of the forest, Legam knew not. Over the past several months, the two had formed a strong, close friendship – perhaps even closer than the companionship he enjoyed with Alistair, his fellow Grey Warden. This level of trust and comfort Legam shared with Leliana frequently led to exchanges of various life experiences.

From these conversations, Legam knew much about Leliana's bard past, especially after the lethal confrontation with Marjolaine. Of course, Legam gathered the redheaded Orlesian still kept much of it to herself: while she didn't regret her former life, Leliana made it quite clear she intended to keep the past behind her. Still, with the right amount of encouragement and prodding, he often could extract snippets of new information about Orlesian bards or other interesting tidbits from her.

During their last restocking in Denerim, Legam overheard a few rumors from tavern-goers about Orlesian bards. He'd meant to ask Leliana for confirmation and clarification, but duties and other concerns drove the curiosity from  
his mind. Now his questions returned – a good excuse as any to spark a conversation with his musical companion.

Legam slowed, altering his stride a few paces to the left so that he walked astride Leliana. She noticed his presence almost instantly, ceasing her humming. Noting the now familiar grin and inquisitive arch of his eyebrow, the bard chuckled. No doubt queries about her past, or perhaps a new tale, tugged at his thoughts.

"Looking for little old me?" Leliana teased before her leader opened his mouth. The mage laughed, nodding.

"Indeed, though you are much easier to find than the Dalish."

"Perhaps my blending in skills are fading, then. I must work on that." She winked, and Legam laughed again. "So, what did you wish from me?"

"Just to pass the time, really." He shrugged. "Perhaps you could oblige by indulging my curiosity for a moment?"

"Perhaps I could. What curiosity requires indulgence?"

He pursed his lips, contemplating how to approach the subject. "I have heard some rumors about Orlesian spies."

Leliana rolled her eyes, but kept a small smile. Obviously, Legam wanted something specific, but he chose to dance around the issue. Time to guide him down a narrowing path. "There are many rumors about spies, Orlesian or otherwise. What are you referring to, exactly?"

Legam looked up at the trees, suddenly afraid of sounding accusatory. "They say you will do almost anything to achieve your goals."

Leliana frowned, defensiveness flaring. "I admit I have done many despicable things in my lifetime. I do what I have to do. So do you. So does everybody." He tilted his head in silent concession, but she continued. "Sometimes we must do terrible things to get what we want. If it is any consolation I always tried to use non-violent means to achieve my ends."

He expected as such, but Legam wondered what brand of tactic she did employ. "What sorts of non-violent means?"

"Some bards rely on torture to get what they want. It works effectively, as many will bend under the threat of bodily harm." Leliana scrunched her face, obviously disapproving of such techniques. "But there are better ways, more subtle and kind. You will be surprised how easily a person will open up to you even if all you offer is a listening ear."

_Perhaps not so surprised._ Legam mused to himself. Leliana certainly talked his ear off constantly once she found the mage actually paid attention to what she said. But she offered the same in turn, so at least it worked both ways.

"People respond eagerly to others who they believe understand them." The bard continued, gesturing for emphasis. "They seek approval, friendship… sometimes love. This can be exploited."

Huh. Subtle manipulation, was it? Somehow, this too did not surprise Legam much. Considering her shady past and gentle nature, the use of such exploitation seemed only natural for her in a bard's life. He imagined her effortless charm and wit worked well in her favor. "I'm sure they didn't mind being exploited by you."

She shrugged, apparently agreeing. "They never complained… well, they did, but usually after they found out what I had done. Never during…" Her voice dropped low, an amused hint to her words. Legam blinked, confused. Obviously, he didn't quite understand her implication. She clarified, for his sake.

"Everyone can be seduced by the right woman. The trick is predicting who she is, and becoming her." Caught up in her recollections, Leliana stopped walking, waving her arms about. "Master the game, and no one can resist  
you."

Legam raised a dark eyebrow. So, seducing men was sport to her? "And would you say you've mastered this game?"

"If I might be so bold… _yes_. I was quite good at it." Leliana smirked impishly. "Sometimes all I had to do was toss a glance and a smile. Men read promises into such things, and will go to great lengths to see that promise fulfilled."

Her mage companion laughed at the thought of men tripping over themselves to please her. His mood turned  
playful, challenging. "I'm sure I'm completely immune to your charms."

Leliana arched her own eyebrow, skeptical. "That is what they _all _say." She shrugged. "I suppose we will never know, will we? I'm certainly not going to test you."

Internally, Legam appreciated the fact Leliana respected him enough to not view him as a plaything. Regardless, he felt like teasing her. "What if I decided to use my charms on you instead?" He leaned against his staff, putting on his best smug face.

The bard snorted. "Ha! _That _would be something to see. He _thinks _he'll charm me!" She mocked, rolling her eyes again. Leliana crossed her arms, amused. Eager to see if the mage's mouth could conjure any magic other than spells, she eyed him expectantly.

Encouraged by her manner, Legam chose the humorous route. "I know you want me, Leliana." His voice dropped excessively, comically low. For added effect, he leaned in slightly, wigging his raven eyebrows and stretching his mouth into a fake lecherous smirk.

Unable to resist the ridiculousness of his attempt, Leliana let out a high, mirthful squeal. She covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. "Hee! Silly _boy_. That was _so _clunky. Awkward. Try again." She shook her head, greatly amused and wondered if the mage flirted very often.

Unperturbed, Legam cocked his head haughtily and wagged his finger. "But I made you laugh! You think it's cute." He smirked triumphantly.

Hand pressed against her stomach, the bard released a heartier laugh. "Maybe…" Leliana admitted. She returned his smirk, eying the mage with mock suspicion, "you're a tricky one." She paused, contemplating her  
friend. "You're an interesting person… sometimes I don't know what to make of you, but…" Her smile softened, her shoulders shrugged casually. "I like it."

Legam laughed, pleased his mischief managed to succeed. Both travelers shared quiet giggles before Leliana observed the sun beginning its journey westward. Night would fall in a few hours, and they still needed to continue their hunt for the Dalish.

She nudged the chortling mage with her palm. "But come, it is getting late and there is much to be done."

Reluctantly, Legam ceased his laughter and nodded. He gestured her onward. "Ladies first."

"Why, thank you. Keep up that gentleman act, and you may actually charm a woman without resorting to absurdities." Leliana slinked down the path ahead.

He followed, taking her mockery in stride. "Perhaps I'll leave that to Oghren, then."

She laughed one last time, her musical giggles echoing in his ears long after their voices quieted.


	5. Mid Summer

Crickets chirped in the distance, beyond the blue haze of nightfall. Legam listened to their unique melody, his thoughts still dwelling on the Dalish elves. After nearly a week of searching, a scouting band confronted their group with mild hostility. A few placating words and explanations later, and the Wardens found themselves wrapped up in a tangled web of vengeance dating back centuries.

Legam sighed, plopping down onto the grass. He lay upon the soft earth, running a hand over his face and hair. Why couldn't any of the treaty negotiations go without a hitch? Something always happened – the dwarven politics in Orzammar sending them into the darkest depths of the Deep Roads; the attacks on the Circle dragging them into the Fade; and now, most recently, the hatred between humans and the Dalish forcing him to cut a swath through a small army of werewolves.

In the end, Legam persuaded his way into the best resolution – convincing the Dalish keeper to end his ancient curse, thus truly freeing the forest from its evil. Though it resulted in the death of Zathrian and the Lady, the mage regretted not his decision. The werewolves were human once more, Witherfang never again could taint other innocents, and the Dalish started recovering from the attacks. Now they offered their support for the upcoming war against the darkspawn.

The mage appreciated their promise of aid and was glad he helped bring some peace to the ancient forest. What aggravated him was that all this trouble cost him several weeks of precious time – a commodity he couldn't afford to spend much more of, if the reports of increasing darkspawn attacks told anything. He still needed to go to Redcliffe and seek Arl Eamon's support against Loghain.

Legam hoped they found the Arl in good health. Months ago, he heard Redcliffe's leader suffered from a grave illness. If Eamon remained sick, Legam suspected, far more complications and delays resided in his immediate future.

He heaved another sigh, scrunching his eyes shut and rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. Sometimes, he really missed the simple, peaceful days back at the Circle. True, it couldn't compete with his life as a Warden for adventure and exploration, but… Legam actually liked the hours of reading, of casting magic to learn or practice, rather than to kill and survive combat.

Not to mention as a regular Circle mage, chances were he'd live a long, productive and educational life. As a Warden, his life expectancy extended, at best, another three decades. Assuming darkspawn or other dangers didn't cut him down first, at least. Thinking on it further, he realized just how much he truly longed for his old life. Duncan invoked the Rite of Conscription to recruit him; Legam refused to come with him otherwise.

He groaned, annoyed at both the long week and his sudden shift in mood. While this life wasn't his choice, duty – nay, compassion and humanity demanded – that he follow this through to the end, no matter how burdensome it became at times. Legam's hand dragged down his face, stretching his features into an exaggerated scowl. Removing his fingers, the tension ceased and his face sprung back into its normal state.

Soft fingers brushed against his arm, startling Legam. He jerked up with a short yelp, tensing in the direction of the invasion. Leliana sat next to him, hand withdrawn, her face apologetic.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!" She rubbed her ginger hair, embarrassed. "You just looked so frustrated and I thought you might appreciate a listening ear."

Recovering, Legam released a long breath, rubbing his chest. "It's all right. Sometimes I forget how quietly you move." He pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his chin upon them. His eyes turned back to the bard. "As for my frustration, it's nothing special. Just me grumbling about things I can't fix."

"Ah, responsibilities about being a Warden weighing you down again?" She sympathized. "Didn't you talk to Wynne at length about this some time ago?"

"I did, and she's completely right," he admitted, "I can gripe and moan but it won't change a thing. Making the most of my time, of my duties, is what counts. I understand this and I accept it." He looked up to the stars. "It's just… Sometimes, after several long, long days, I stress about it regardless."

"Running yourself ragged tends to have that effect on a person," Leliana noted. "Even as a mage and a Warden, you are still only human. It is perfectly fine to allow yourself a weak moment every once in a while. So long as you have the strength to carry on, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

A smile slowly spread across his lips, "You speak truly. Thank you."

She returned his smile with a small smirk of her own. "Of course I speak truly. When will you men learn that women know the answers to everything?"

Legam barked a brief laugh. "Ha! I suppose our thick skulls prevent that particular snippet of information from sinking in."

"An excellent theory. Perhaps someone should test it one day." Leliana chuckled, glad his mood lifted.

"I volunteer Alistair. Certainly his skull's thick enough." Legam leered mischievously. They broke into a short bout of laughter, imagining the other Warden's flustered protests at such claims. The snickering died down, and the two friends fell into a comfortable silence, looking back up at the sapphire sky.

Contentment drove away his earlier agitation. Legam smiled again. While the mage felt bonds of friendships form between all his companions – even Sten and Morrigan – Leliana always managed to lift his spirits, no matter how low his mood dipped. He knew he had the same effect on her – perhaps that's why they usually sought out each other's company before others.

Legam shifted, looking over at his closest comrade. Though he enjoyed the silence, Leliana only kept quiet for this long when she dwelled on something. "You are uncharacteristically quiet. Something else on your mind?"

Leliana faced him, shrugging. "Oh, nothing morose. My thoughts dwell on the Dalish." She turned her gaze back towards the camp's bonfire.

"Oh? Something bothering you about them?"

She shook her head. "I was just thinking about what happened to the elves and I… am reminded of a song sung to me, many years ago." The bard's eyes saddened, "It was… when my mother died, and this wise elven woman comforted me and told me that we shouldn't fear death, or hate it."

Legam perched his elbow atop his knees, resting his cheek on his knuckles. Knowing she held his full attention, Leliana continued.

"Death is just another beginning. One day we must all shed our earthly bodies to allow our spirits to fly free."

The mage contemplated the image, smiling serenely. "That is comforting."

Leliana nodded in agreement. "It's a beautiful sentiment, I think – one that brings peace and hope to the grieving."

"Do you still know this song?" His green eyes widened, curious.

Leliana chuckled lowly, "Yes, though I am unsure how accurate my Elven pronunciation is." She met his gaze, "Would you like to hear it?"

"Have I ever told you to stop whenever you break into a hum, whistle, or song?"

She giggled, "I'll take that as a 'yes' then." Leliana rose, walking to her tent.

His head followed her movements, "Where are you going?"

Leliana picked up her lute from its nest. Returning, she sat back on the grass, facing the fire. "Just getting this. The song's not complete without the proper music."

Her fingers plucked the strings, a simple, yet elegant melody flowing from the instrument. Leliana repeated the  
notes a few turns before adding her voice to the music. Only wordless chanting emitted from her vocal chords, but the lamentable tone remained clear. Before the bard sang the first lyric, Legam found himself already entranced.

Leliana inhaled briefly, beginning the first verse. _"Hahren na melana sahlin. Emma ir abelas. Souver'inan isala hamin._" Despite her earlier self-depreciation, the Elven words flowed effortlessly from her lips, entwining perfectly with the lute's chords. "_Vhenan him dor'felas._" The bard turned her gaze from the fire. Her head lifted to face Legam, eyes locking on his. The mage, utterly spellbound by her voice, felt his insides somersault. Oddly, he rather enjoyed the sensation. "_In uthenera na revas._"

She flowed into wordless melody again, her azure eyes remaining focused on his own emerald orbs. Legam's insides flipped about again. Leliana's chants transitioned back into words, "_Vir sulahn'nehn… Vir dirthera. Vir samahl la numin. Vir lath sa'vunin._" Leliana finally broke eye contact, turning her gaze down to her instrument as the song drifted towards its end. Legam blinked, realizing he hadn't in several moments.

"_Vir sulahn'nehn… Vir dirthera._" Leliana closed her eyes, focusing completely on the music in its final verses. "_Vir samahl la numin. Vir lath sa'vunin._" She plucked the opening chords a few more times, slowing the notes until she eventually ceased. The bard quietly set her lute down, passing a sideways glance towards her audience. She repressed a giggle, seeing he remained captivated despite the song ending.

Legam heard Leliana sing many times before – anything from a simple whistling tune to a lute-accompanied melody like the one she just finished. However, this was the first time she sang for him and him specifically. Whether he remained enthralled because of the personal attention or the natural musical quality of the Elven tongue, he knew not. Whatever the case, the mage finally snapped back to reality, the fog lifting over his mind.

He opened his mouth to speak, but only garbled, incoherent sounds seeped out. Finally, Legam gave up talking and simply clapped his hands quietly. Leliana smiled, bashful. She twirled her finger around her braid.

"Thank you." She murmured. "A minstrel is always happy to see her audience so mesmerized."

"It was lovely." He rasped. Legam coughed, clearing his throat. His voice returned in full. "I shall remember to request personal performances in the future."

Leliana arched an eyebrow, studying his face to find any hint of veiled euphemisms. She saw none, and chose to take his comment as the obvious: in reference to her singing. Somehow, the prospect that Legam spoke without underlying intentions both pleased and disheartened her. An odd combination of emotions.

"Yes, well… Perhaps I shall oblige you once more in the future." She cleared her own throat, rising to her feet. "But not tonight. I have the late watch shift, so I should get my rest now."

He nodded. "I shan't keep you, then. Go get some sleep."

Leliana raised her hand in a small wave, "Good night, Legam. Make sure you get some proper sleep, yourself."

"Heh. I will, don't worry." She walked off to her tent, and the mage instantly felt empty by her absence.

He lay back down on the grass, covering his face in his hands. Legam thought back to her song, to the personal connection and spirituality he experienced when Leliana sang. Behind his palms, a grin formed. His insides repeated their earlier acrobatics.

Epiphany struck him, hard and fast as a genlock's blade. His fingers spread apart, revealing his dumbstruck eyes to the open skies.

He was in love with Leliana.

When did that happen? How could it happen? Legam groaned, fingers closing off his vision once more. Now a whole new army of worries invaded his thoughts.

So much for getting a good sleep tonight.


	6. Late Summer

Legam scanned the forest clearing, focusing all his senses on detecting any potential threats. Typical forest noises filled his ears – squirrels scurrying, leaves rustling, birds chirping. His eyes, green as the leaves surrounding him, observed only branches, brambles and small woodland creatures. He didn't sense any darkspawn nearby, either. Nodding confidently, the mage determined the area safe.

He turned to his comrades, "It appears safe. Let's break here." His friends sighed in unison, each finding a spot to settle. Legam himself plopped down on a nearby boulder. A bit too hard, in fact. The Grey Warden grumbled, rubbing his sore bottom. Once the pain subsided, he reached into his belt pouch, pulling out a folded piece of worn parchment.

Setting it in his lap, Legam spread the crinkled paper, revealing a detailed map of Ferelden, complete with personal notes and shortcuts. He leaned over it, studying the geography carefully. His russet finger traced their trail, dragging to a stop at their current location. He tapped the spot a few times, calculating how much ground they could cover before nightfall, and where they would break camp.

A soft wind blew through the trees, rustling the map. Legam scrambled, grabbing the edges tightly to prevent it from fluttering away. As the mage cursed the weather, the corner of his eyes caught a blur of white movement. He turned, tensed and prepared for combat if need be. Realizing the blur was just a cluster of flowers waving in the breeze, the mage allowed himself a self-depreciating chuckle.

Legam peered back at the flowers. His laughter died down, taking note of their shape. Curious, he folded the map back up and secured it inside his pouch. Leaning forward, he examined the flora more closely. Four large, curled white petals spread from the center of each wildflower. Red splashed against the center, seeping into the petals. Maker's Breath! These were Andraste's Grace!

The mage squatted down by the flowers, carefully touching the soft edges. Though Legam knew the flowers grew all over Ferelden, he'd never seen one in person before: Only detailed sketches in tomes back at the Circle. He inhaled deeply, taking in their sweet scent. Legam smiled, thinking of Leliana.

Granted, these days it didn't take much for his mind to settle on the Orlesian bard. Sometimes, even subjects as irrelevant as dwarven ale brought Leliana into his thoughts. The flowers, at least, were much more relevant in this case. He recalled a conversation with her – many, many months ago. It might have even occurred before the encounter with Marjolaine's assassins.

However far back, Legam remembered Leliana talking about the Orlesian noble who took her in as a young girl after her mother passed away. She spoke with great sadness, admitting her young age at the time left few memories of her parent. What she did recall was that her mother kept her homeland of Ferelden close to heart. The maid owned dried petals – taken from Andraste's Grace. Their scent was the only link Leliana had to her deceased kin, but they rarely grew in Orlais. Leliana hadn't seen one in years.

Legam frowned, knowing all too well the connection between scent and loved ones. Like most Circle mages, the templars came for him shortly after the first signs of magic manifested in him. Unlike most other mages, however, his parents did not give him up happily.

Immigrants from Rivain, his mother and father were not Andrastians. Instead, they believed in the Natural Order, and as such, their faith did not view magic as negatively as the Chantry did. They knew better than to fight against Ferelden law, however, and reluctantly turned over their eight year old son to the Circle.

For years, his mother kept up correspondence with him. Her letters always smelt faintly of cinnamon, like the incense she burned. By the time Legam reached adolescence, the letters stopped. He knew not why, but held his own suspicions.

Perhaps because he converted to the Chantry after being raised first on the Natural Order, Legam held a high tolerance for other religions. He knew most Fereldens did not, however… And he also knew many distrusted the Rivaini. Even as a child back in Denerim, he witnessed several occasions of persecution.

His mother's final letter mentioned several drunken men assaulting his father in a tavern one night. Though the guards broke up the fight before it escalated beyond fists, the hooligans harassed his father again on two other separate occasions, increasing in violence and threats each time. Legam remembered the tone of fear and concern in his mother's writing… When he never received letters from her again, his heart told him something dire happened, and likely related to the assaults.

Legam sighed. The pain subsided some with time, but he still preferred not to think back on the situation much. His original point, he supposed, was that the scent of cinnamon reminded him of his own mother, much like the connection between Andraste's Grace and Leliana.

He smiled, glancing over his shoulder to spot said bard sitting only a dozen feet away, facing away from him as she fixed a loose string on her lute. Her closeness never surprised him anymore: For the past two months, Leliana tended to walk and rest near him. Likely this habit made starting up their myriad conversations easier. A part of him hoped affection played a role as well, though he never asked.

Thoroughly smitten with the Orlesian, Legam had yet to gather the courage to admit his feelings. Instead, he remained content enjoying her company as a friend. As things currently stood, he'd rather not risk jeopardizing the close friendship if his feelings remained one-sided.

Legam turned back to the wildflowers, contemplating them. Still, romantic or friendly in nature, he doubted Leliana could reject a gift like this. Perhaps if he gauged her reaction, the mage could get a better understanding of where her feelings lay. If not, it was still a meaningful gift for a dear companion. That alone was enough for the Grey Warden. He reached out, plucking two flowers from their roots.

Leliana finished tightening the chord. Testing, she plucked the note a few times. Pleased with the result, the bard set aside the instrument, sensing a presence behind her. Already, a warm smile spread across her lips. She knew her leader by the shifting of his uneven steps, the ever so slight occasional wheeze in his breathing: results of a previous time spent mostly absorbed in books, unaccustomed to all the trekking and combat their current life required.

Rising from her seat, the bard turned to face Legam, still smiling widely. "I'm here for you. What do you need?" Leliana noted the mage's right arm remained behind his back while the other rubbed his neck nervously. He closed it into a fist, placing it before his mouth and clearing his throat.

"Well, I was just sitting around and…" Legam's words faltered. He started again, "You know how forests have nice things sometimes? Eh…" Again, coherence flittered away.

Leliana giggled, finding his bumbling endearing. She waved her hand, encouraging him on. Legam inhaled deeply, frustrated at his tongue's sudden ineptitude. "Oh, sod it…" he muttered, pulling the flowers out from hiding and thrusting them forward before the bard.

Leliana's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline, unable to hide her surprise. Bemused, she carefully placed her fingers around the stems, gently pulling the flowers out of his grasp. "Flowers? For me?" She gasped, touched. "Oh… they're beautiful."

Attempting to deflect his awkward feelings, Legam reverted to teasing mode. "So, do I get a kiss?" His eyes widened, realizing his slip. He didn't mean to say that! The Warden mentally cursed up a storm that would send Oghren away blushing.

Leliana appeared less taken aback. Instead, her lips curled into a warm smile that reached her eyes. "Just a small one."

Legam's stream of imagined vulgarities screeched to a halt. "Wh–" He felt her fingers press down on his shoulder, using it as support to raise her face to his. Leliana's lips brushed against his cheek in a chaste, appreciative kiss. Heat immediately flared in his face.

The bard released her hold, shrinking back down to her height. "There." Leliana smiled again, this time content – and perhaps a tad smug. She looked down at the gift in her hands. "And, thank you for the flowers."

His mind scrambled, trying to recover his ability to speak, to elaborate. He managed a sputtered, "Smell them."

Leliana tilted her head, confused. He didn't clarify but softly rubbed his cheek absentmindedly. She lowered her head, inhaling the scent. Realization struck, her eyes widened. "These were… These were her favorite…" Breathless, joy filled her breast as pleasant memories poured into her mind. "Oh, I haven't seen these in such a long time! They smell just like Mother used to."

Deeply touched, she found herself oddly at a loss for words. Finally, she breathed, "Thank you… Thank you so much for remembering."

He managed a, "You're welcome," before muttering something about maps and waving his hands haphazardly. Excusing himself, the mage stumbled back to his perch on the boulder.

Leliana sank back down on her own rock, sniffing the flowers once again. The thoughtfulness of his gift warmed her heart, rekindling feelings long ago forgotten. She sighed contently, glad to lose herself in the first completely blissful thoughts since she left Lothering. Perhaps the Blight wasn't the only reason the Maker nudged her away from the Chantry…


	7. Early Autumn

Seated atop a tree stump, Leliana grunted, her foot pressing the bow against the earth as she attempted to restring it. Darkspawn ambushed them around midday, and in the chaos of combat, her bowstring had snapped. Pulling the string into its notch, she tied a tight knot to secure it in place. The bard plucked the bowstring a few times before placing it away, satisfied with its tautness. She rubbed her shoulder, thinking back on the battle.

~*~*~

After weeks of trudging through foliage, their party was only a few miles away from leaving the forest and reaching the open trade routes. Before they ventured to Redcliffe, Legam decided a side trip to Denerim was in order. After the incident with the Dalish and werewolves the previous month, they required newer equipment and supplies. The Warden mage also hoped to pick up any helpful rumors about Redcliffe and its Arl's condition before making the long journey west.

And so they marched northward. As they reached the edges of the forest, a band of hurlocks and genlocks leapt out from amongst the shrubbery. The Warden-crew scrambled into action, spells, swords and arrows flying. Alistair, Sten and Oghren managed to cut down the charging grunts, but a sudden explosion scattered them.

Knocked over from the blast, Legam rose back to his feet, spotting a hurlock emissary. While it cackled, the mage craned his neck to spot Leliana taking cover behind a tree.

"Kill it." Legam commanded, jerking his head at the darkspawn spell caster. His bard friend nodded, notching a fire arrow into her bow. She peered around the trunk, spotting the emissary some hundred or so meters away, casting another spell. Quickly, she calculated the angle, raising her bow and pulled back on the string, stretching it for optimal velocity.

Too much. The pressure snapped the string, misfiring the arrow. It zipped past Morrigan, barely missing her stomach. Instead, the missile struck a nearby genlock in the chest. The apostate turned on her heel, scowling at the bard.

"Watch where you fire those arrows, fool!"

Leliana ignored Morrigan's ire, too busy scrambling for her daggers. Her fingers grazed the hilts when she felt a piercing sting in her left shoulder, knocking her over. Gasping in pain, Leliana turned to spot an arrow protruding from her arm. Maker damn it! Clenching her teeth, the bard closed her fingers tightly around the shaft. Before she could yank the object out, a low guttural hiss rang in her ears.

A hurlock stood above her, its axe raised to strike. Cursing, Leliana reached for her throwing knife, hoping to beat the darkspawn's speed. The hurlock swung –

– And froze in mid-attack, encased in ice. Leliana chanced a glance to the side, spotting Legam nearby. He nodded at her, turning his attention back to the oncoming foes. Electricity crackled from his fingertips, spreading out into a chain and frying half a dozen nearby darkspawn. Leliana turned back to the frozen hurlock. Drawing a dagger, she quickly gutted the evil creature. When the spell effect wore off, it crumbled into a heap at her feet.

Leliana winced, pain shooting through her arm again. She leaned against the tree for support. A blue-green orb of magic flew from Legam's hand, striking the emissary. It stumbled a few steps before exploding in a cloud of gore, bites of bones slicing into its nearby allies. The most dangerous foe incapacitated, Legam turned to Leliana.

"Are you all right?" He panted, drained from spell casting.

She gritted her teeth, hissing through them, "It is not deep, I think. It just…" Another surge of agony erupted from her shoulder. "… Hurts."

The mage examined the battlefield, noting only two darkspawn remained – fleeing, at that, with Zevran and the mabari hot on their heels. Legam turned his gaze to their eldest member, currently wiping specks of blood off her face.

"Wynne!" He yelled. The snow-haired mage snapped to attention. "We need your healing! They struck Leli in the shoulder."

Leliana allowed herself a small smile at the casual nickname. Sometimes her companions used it, as had a few acquaintances back in Orlais. Yet whenever she heard the Warden speak it, it carried a certain endearment she didn't experience with anyone else. Pain struck her again, shaking her from idle musing.

Legam turned back to her as Wynne jogged towards their location. "Still yourself," he commanded gently, carefully placing a hand against her collarbone, pressing her body more firmly against the trunk. His other hand gripped the arrow shaft. Knowing his intent, Leliana averted her eyes, fighting the instinct to tense her muscles.

He yanked the missile out of her flesh with one hard tug. Leliana hissed, wincing. Legam tossed the arrow aside, pressing his hand against the open wound to help staunch the blood flow. She looked back at the mage, muttering an appreciative, "Thank you." He nodded, focusing on her injury.

Wynne arrived, gently brushing him aside, "Good work, Legam. Now let me take it from here." He obliged, shifting his position to Leliana's good side. The Warden placed a hand on her uninjured shoulder, supporting her balance while the elder mage tended to the arrow wound.

Instinctively, Leliana leaned her head back, resting it against the base of his neck. His fingers stroked her arm reassuringly. Wynne glanced up at the two young adults, smiling to herself before returning to her ministrations. Ah, youthful affection.

~*~*~

Leliana rubbed her arm once more at the memory. As she suspected, the arrow did not pierce far – Wynne mended it all with her magic. The only pain that lingered stemmed from her own mind if she dwelled on it too long. She'd suffered far worse injuries in her life – many of them in just the past few months since she joined Legam's mission.

The bard sighed happily, butterflies fluttering in her stomach when she thought of the mage. She spotted him across the camp, currently rubbing Benjamin's belly affectionately. The mabari hound rolled about on his back happily at the attention, his tail thumping against the ground gleefully. Leliana giggled at the scene. She leaned forward to rest her elbow on her thigh, and her chin on her hand, content to continue observing.

Benjamin flipped onto his four legs, tail swishing. Spotting Legam's staff nearby, he grabbed it in his mouth and bolted away, playful. The mage stumbled after his war hound, dismayed, "Hey! Careful with that! That is not a plaything!"

Leliana's giggle evolved into a hearty laugh. Her Warden companion certainly competed with Alistair for overall awkwardness. In her eyes though, the Rivain man certainly won the contest for adorableness. She sighed once again.

The two of them formed a fast friendship in only a few weeks after departing Lothering. Legam had accepted her into his fold, even after she mentioned her vision. He was unfazed by her unorthodox beliefs, and let her ramble on for hours about anything without complaint – even with her shoe fascination (which she knew he didn't quite understand).

He offered her a supportive hand and a listening ear after Marjolaine's death. His words brought her back from the brink of a crisis of faith, reassuring her that Marjolaine was wrong. Though the two bards shared similarities, the two were not alike; Leliana was a good person where it counted, despite her shady past.

When her mood lingered on the morose, Legam seemed to sense it. Even better, he always managed to brighten it, often with humor or tidbits of wisdom. She returned the favor whenever he sank into his own worries, bringing a smile back to his face.

He shared her love of stories and strength of faith, ever eager to listen to her tales or discuss religion. Though they disagreed on a few philosophical points, the two friends managed to keep their ideals separate from their opinion of the other.

The mage offered a helping hand to many requiring aid – often without expectation of reward, though many granted it anyway. He approached others respectfully, usually maintaining his manners in conversation and persuading his way out of trouble when things became too heated.

Of course, the Rivaini Warden wasn't perfect. Sometimes, his emotions overrode his rationale and led the group to trouble. He frequently cracked under stress, becoming cranky and impatient. When something upset him, he often moped about it for hours, sometimes even if the transgression was small.

During their earlier days, he sometimes wavered in combat and forgot to use his magic, instead running about the battleground in a panic. That changed over time as he grew more confident, but she noted a flicker of fear still lingered in his eyes whenever they first entered battle.

Despite his faults – perhaps even because of them – Leliana respected the mage. He was only human after all. Considering the level of responsibility that lay on his shoulders, she didn't begrudge him his shortcomings. Besides, he led their team through all sorts of trials. He even managed to connect with each of them, including stoic Sten and antisocial Morrigan.

Legam finally caught up with Benjamin, tackling the dog to the ground and wrestling for hold of his staff. Leliana laughed again. Perhaps what she liked most about him, she decided, was his awkward charm. True, Alistair also bumbled about and she found it endearing in him as well, but…

With the templar, his awkwardness stemmed from a certain lack of self-confidence. While Legam also doubted himself at times, he trusted his capabilities and acted with more confidence than his fellow Grey Warden usually did. The mage's inelegance was simply who he was. Though Legam retained enough social graces to crack the occasional quip or talk others through to compromise, his studious former life still affected him.

Accustomed to burying himself into books or practicing the arcane, the mage sometimes blundered through unfamiliar conversations. At the Circle, much of his time was spent at a table, reading. Their current life called for much more activity, and Legam's body did not always know how to coordinate itself, stumbling and tripping about – so unlike many heroes of legend.

Perhaps that's why Leliana found him so endearing, so… Lovable. The bard twirled her braid around her index finger. Over the past month or so, she found herself drawn to the mage more and more often. She felt a level of affection for Legam she had not experienced since her happier days with Marjolaine. Leliana was unsure if she loved him, but knew at the very least she adored him.

This reality was not new to Leliana – she realized the level of influence Legam held on her some time ago – but had yet to act on her feelings, not overtly. Instead, she dropped hints every now and then: a slightly flirtatious remark in response to a question, giggling when he smiled, lingering a tad long when touching his arm or shoulder. The bard hoped to gauge his reaction, to guide him towards a confirmation of some sort.

Unfortunately, she couldn't read his reactions well enough. True, the mage bumbled more around her than he used to, but Leliana knew not if this was due to attraction, or simply lack of experience with flirting. Though he'd complimented her beauty and teased her in the past, his manner belied friendliness rather than lust.

Leliana pouted her lower lip, frustrated. Ever since leaving the Dalish, she'd tried to coax a clear response out of him. Maybe he required a less subtle approach.

She watched Legam snatch his staff out of the mabari's grasp, rising to his feet. He dusted himself off indignantly, scolding Benjamin. The dog whined sadly, manipulating Legam into giving him a reassuring scratch behind the ears. Again Leliana felt adoration surge through her being, and decided then on her future course: When the next opportunity presented itself, she would be a bit more direct.

Maybe the Maker pitied her, for opportunity greeted her door only a few moments later. Legam strode over, plopping down on the ground next to her tree stump. He panted a bit, tired from chasing Benjamin around camp.

"Maker's breath, but that mabari is a troublemaker sometimes." He chuckled.

Leliana grinned, "Indeed he is, but that is what makes him so charming, I think."

"Perhaps." Legam set the wooden staff down on the grass beside him. "How is your arm doing?"

Reflexively, she rubbed the spot of the old injury. "It is not troubling me much. Wynne's magic worked well. It only hurts if I dwell on it, and then the pain stems from my mind at the thought, nothing more."

Legam smiled, relieved. "That's good to hear." He looked at the night sky, "The calm of night also helps to wind down after a fierce day of combat as well, no?"

Leliana pondered a moment, seeing how she could steer the conversation to its desired location. "Indeed it does. The night seems more peaceful, safer."

"That it does," he agreed. "Though I suppose danger is just as viable now as it is during the day." As if expecting such danger soon, he rose to his feet, stretching.

"Perhaps it is a bit silly to find reprieve from the day's troubles at night." She admitted, hoping to keep him near and continue the conversation. "The darkspawn never sleep, and they lurk in the shadows."

Legam looked back at the bard, shaking his head, "No, it is not that silly. Seeking moments to lay down your burdens is only natural. Rational or not, we all need to set aside our worries sometimes, lest we go insane with anxiety."

"You speak true." Leliana smiled softly, encouraged. She ventured on, pushing their dialogue further towards her goal. "The nights I enjoy most are when we stand guard together, talking to pass the time in those small hours..." she chuckled self-depreciatingly, "Well, I talk and you listen, mostly..."

The bard paused, playing with her braid again. She recalled the nights where exhaustion from the day overpowered her, and she no longer resisted the siren call of dreams. "Sometimes I succumb and fall asleep. When I wake later, you're still watchful, and I know you're watching out for me."

He smiled, also recalling those nights. Usually, Leliana lasted throughout their shift. Occasionally, Legam noticed her talking dwindle, her speech slow and eventually, stopping altogether. Whenever he looked to check on her, he'd find her fast asleep. Content to let Leliana rest, Legam fought his own urge to nod off even more, determined to keep an extra watchful eye open. Not just to fulfill his own duty, but to protect his dearest companion while she lay vulnerable.

"I will always watch your back, Leliana." He promised. "You never have to feel afraid if I am around."

Leliana gathered her courage, her throat suddenly dry. "W-what I'm trying to say is... Is that I trust you. I'm comfortable around you." She averted his gaze, unable to keep her thoughts collected while she met his eyes. "I know you'll be there when I need you."

Beginning to suspect where she headed, a knowing smirk began to spread across Legam's lips. He placed his chin in his hand, listening intently.

"You are our... Our leader, and my friend and..." Leliana inhaled deeply. No turning back now. "Sometimes I think that m-maybe… we could be more than that..."

Somewhere in the depths of Legam's mind, he whooped for joy. Outwardly, he continued to smirk and let the bard speak, finding her uncharacteristic stumbling adorable.

The butterflies from earlier returned, spreading their sensation from Leliana's stomach to her chest. "Maker... Look at me, stumbling over my words like an ill-educated peasant girl. Some bard I am..." Her cheeks burned. How did a goofy mage manage to turn an experienced seductress like herself into a babbling fool?

His amused response did nothing to help. "You know, you are quite cute when you're embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed!" Leliana defended, briefly looking at him again. Her hands waved at the fire, struggling to find an excuse. "I'm just... flushed because... of the... heat!" Oh, how smooth. She felt quite the fool. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea…

Still Legam danced around the issue, reveling in the turned tables. "Well, I'm flattered someone like you is interested in a man like me."

Leliana regained some of her composure. "Do you mean to imply my taste is poor? Why can't I like you? You're a good person, a great listener, a... A remarkable warrior." She felt her wit returning.

"You often show signs of intelligence and… you're fairly good-looking... Most of your facial features are in the right place." The bard grinned slightly, teasing. True, Legam was not the most handsome man in Ferelden, but he certainly wasn't ugly. His features carried a certain charm all their own. She found his nose especially cute, but decided to leave out that particular detail for now.

Legam, to his benefit, rolled his eyes and smirked. "Thanks, you're so complimentary."

"You're welcome, I try." Leliana quipped. He eyed her expectantly, to which she shrugged. "There... Isn't much more I can say. My feelings have been laid bare. You are... Very special to me." She played with her fingers, simultaneously anticipating and dreading his response.

Legam weighed his options, knowing what he said likely set them on one of two very separate paths. He knew he loved the Orlesian, and was elated to know she shared his affection, at least on some level. What gave him pause was the uncertainty in such a future.

The mage knew her past as a seductress and assassin, though that did not bother him. His main concern was his lack of experience – his entire past love life consisted of a few kisses exchanged with a crush during his adolescence. How well could two such different people get along romantically?

His heart spoke up, shoving his rationalizing aside. What was life without risk, without chance? He loved her, she adored him. In the end, did not the possibilities far outweigh the risks? Legam's doubts vanished, meeting Leliana's hesitant gaze. "My heart mirrors yours, and I'm elated to know you feel the same as me."

Leliana felt her heart soar, though a degree of surprise mingled with it. "Really? N-no one told me." Alistair and Wynne teased her on occasion about Legam, but nobody ever outright confirmed his mutual attraction, least of all the mage himself. "You... You felt the same way and didn't do me the courtesy of informing me?"

Indignity seeped into the bard's joy. "Y-you made me say all those things! Why can't you have said them first?" Legam only shrugged helplessly. Her earlier unease returned. "Oh, you... Oh, how very awkward...!"

The Rivaini man grinned, hoping to ease some of her apparent frustration with jest. "Did you not just say you were comfortable around me, dear lady?"

"Well, yes, b-but..." Flustered, Leliana failed to find a legitimate excuse. "D-don't question me! I am a woman and I reserve the right to be inconsistent!"

He laughed, enjoying this rather clumsy side to Leliana. She exhaled in exasperation.

"Oh, chivalry is so dead. Making the lady spill her guts like that..." Honestly, did no man understand how to woo women anymore?

Legam tilted his head, further amused. He felt a surge of unusual boldness and decided to act upon it before the moment passed. The mage stepped forward a few paces, closing the short distance between them.

Noticing his movement, Leliana eyed him cautiously. "W-what are you –" Legam leaned down, placing a hand to her cheek. He coaxed her face upwards and pressed his lips against hers before she could protest. Her eyes widened, taken completely off-guard.

Though the kiss was rather clumsy, like many other things about Legam, it nonetheless sent sparks down her spine. It ignited a long-forgotten fire the bard had not felt in years. Recovering some of her senses, Leliana reached up, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to press him closer. Her eyes closed, losing herself in their connection.

They separated countless moments later, breathless. Leliana found her voice first. "Well... I... Hmm..." Her voice, but not complete coherency. "That settles it then."

Legam chuckled, leaning his forehead against hers affectionately. Tonight, no further worries burdened his mind. Tonight, the Blight felt far away. Tonight, he forged a new, unfamiliar, yet exciting trail. Everything was right with the world, if only for tonight.


	8. Mid Autumn

Legam held up a small leather coin purse, contemplating it. Such an inordinate object, so unassuming. Within it resided just a small pinch of ashes, but the mage went through the longest six weeks of his life to retrieve them. He and his companions spent a month trekking steep mountains, fought a demented cult, slew a high dragon and went through a literal trial of faith to collect the small relic. The Warden shook his head, still in awe he possessed remains of the prophet Andraste.

The moment he beheld the Urn of Sacred Ashes made the entire journey worth taking. Never before in his life did the mage feel filled with such awe, such enlightenment. Legam still doubted his worthiness in beholding such a holy artifact, let alone actually touching it. Yet he passed the challenges of the Gauntlet, so perhaps the Maker saw something within the Warden that he didn't.

He sighed, carefully placing the small bag back within his belt pouch. Arl Eamon needed the ashes to recover from a poison-induced illness. Legam rubbed his temple, recalling the incident back at Redcliffe. Expecting to recruit the Arl's aid against Lohgain, he instead discovered a town under attack by undead and the castle cut off from contact.

After aiding Bann Teagan – the Arl's brother – with saving the town, Legam and his team infiltrated the fortress to discover a tangled web of deceit and misguided intentions. At the root of it resided a demon-possessed boy and a man the Rivain never expected to see again: Jowan. Legam frowned, still unsure of what to think about his former friend.

They grew up in the Circle together, yet Jowan lied about practicing blood magic and unintentionally led Legam into his current Grey Warden lifestyle. Later, he discovered the apostate was the one poisoning the arl, triggering the series of events that placed Redcliffe at the whims of a desire demon. Part of him resented his fellow mage for all the death and destruction he wrought, however unintentional. The other part pitied and worried over his old friend, despite his transgressions. Legam still didn't know if he'd vouch for Jowan should Arl Eamon awake.

"I know that look. You're brooding about something." A very familiar, sweet voice uttered behind him. Smiling, Legam turned to see Leliana sit beside him. She folded her hands atop his shoulder, and rested her chin upon her hands. His smile widened slightly, appreciative of the bard's open affection. Sometimes he hardly believed three months passed since the Orlesian admitted her adoration. Her companionship and love brightened the dreariness of his duty, a single candle flame amidst infinite shadows.

Legam toyed with the bard's braid, twirling the tip in his fingers as he responded, "Oh, just wondering what will happen when we return to Redcliffe. Hopefully, the Ashes will work. If… When… Arl Eamon's health returns, Jowan must answer for his crimes. I'm just not sure what is appropriate."

Leliana pursed her lips, thinking. "In the end, he aided us, did he not? While you did not use his methods to save Connor, it was his suggestion that brought the Circle's help to mind, yes? Because of his original idea, you managed to save the arl's family."

"True," The mage admitted, releasing her hair. "But his poisoning made Arl Eamon ill in the first place and started the whole fiasco."

"I do not deny that. But when you freed him from his prison, he chose to stay. Even knowing the consequences, Jowan chose to make amends. Everyone deserves a second chance."

"Aye, but after what he did at the Circle, he continued to make foolish decisions." Legam sighed, rubbing his temple again. "I know Jowan. He is not a malicious man, but… He is not exactly the brightest at times, either. I do not doubt his intentions, but his good judgment."

Leliana gently grabbed his fingers, pulling them away from his head. "Perhaps this is a situation best left to the Circle? Your former friendship might very well color your own judgment of the situation."

Legam stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps. Chances are the Circle will make him Tranquil or execute him, but… Who knows? They may show mercy for his help. They are not without bias either, but Irving's always strived for fairness." He nodded. "Yes… That is probably the best solution. Thank you for your council, Leli." The Warden craned his neck, attempting to kiss her cheek affectionately. He missed, pecking the tip of her nose instead.

The bard giggled. "Was that your intended trajectory?" She teased.

He flushed, but grinned in spite of himself. "That's the story I choose to tell. I do not share your agility, I fear."

"Certainly not!" Leliana agreed, laughing before kissing his cheek, "But that's just part of your oafish charm, my dear."

"Good to know I am loved." His green eyes rolled, though the mage retained his smirk.

She laughed again, laying her cheek on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his. "Very much so, do not doubt that." He chuckled, resting his head atop hers. The two sat in quiet contentment, enjoying the low crackle of the camp fire and the soft sounds of each other's breathing.

Tiny squeaking snorts broke the stillness. Legam felt something bump his shin. He smirked, recognizing the disruption as a certain subterranean bunny-pig. After finding the Sacred Ashes, a blizzard forced the party into the underground roads. Luckily, Oghren recognized a path leading back to Orzammar.

Unsure of the surface weather, the group returned to the dwarven city for a few days, restocking and resting. During their stay, Legam managed to procure a nug, recalling Leliana's fascination with the strange animals. He gave it to her as a pet, much to the bard's delight. She named it Schmooples. Schmooples! Even now, the ridiculous moniker sent the mage into snickers. Almost indignantly, the nug bumped his leg again.

"Looks like somebody's hungry… Or jealous of the attention I'm getting." He mused. Leliana straightened, picking up the nug and cradling him in one arm.

"Likely both," she chuckled, getting up. "It's about time for his dinner and bedtime, anyway. I shall return shortly."

Legam plopped down onto the grass, folding his hands behind his head, "Take your time, I shan't go anywhere."

Leliana carried the nug over to the basket that served as his bed. Placing the hairless critter down, she rummaged her pack for food. Retrieving several carrot sticks, she fed it to Schmooples. He squeaked happily, nibbling the vegetables. The bard giggled, shaking her head. As her pet enjoyed his meal, she turned her gaze back to the lounging Warden.

Sometimes it still amazed her the Maker had blessed her with Legam's companionship. Perhaps He sought to reward her for her faith, or counterbalance the pain she suffered in her last days within Orlais all those years ago. Whatever the reason, Leliana savored each moment spent in her love's company.

Leliana smiled. Love. When the bard had gathered the courage to express Legam's importance to her, she was unsure how deep her adoration went. Three months later, no doubt remained. She loved him with all her heart – the mage was the most important person to her since Marjolaine. Even with all their responsibilities and constant battles, Legam brought true happiness to her life. He remained her most trusted companion, a great comfort in trying times.

Comfort. She sighed, blowing a few strands of hair from her face. It was wonderful to share such affection with a man and actually mean it for once. No longer did she seduce for secrets and gain. After joining the Chantry, the bard vowed to take such things more seriously, and to save the pleasures of the flesh for one she truly loved. Lovemaking should remain just that – not a tool to manipulate people.

Only… Despite her open admission of love, the couple had yet to be intimate. Leliana felt they reached the point in their relationship to explore such areas, but waited to see if Legam made any moves first. So far, nothing. He ever remained a gentleman in her company. Part of her loved his considerate demeanor; the other boiled from years of pent-up sexual frustration, on the verge of exploding at times. Thankfully, Leliana mastered her urges a long time ago.

Still, she knew as they drew closer to Redcliffe each day, the closer they came to being swept up in Ferelden politics. When that happened, their time for each other would diminish rapidly. The window of opportunity shrank, and Leliana decided she must take things into her own hands once more. Scratching Schmooples behind his ear, she let the nug finish his meal. His hunger satisfied, Schmooples curled up in the basket, his ears drooping with sleep. Leliana patted the hairless rodent's head one last time, bidding him good night.

She strolled back over to Legam, who now stood, leaning on his staff as he gazed up at the stars. The bard stopped next to him, scanning the heavens. "See something interesting?"

Legam shrugged, "Just looking at Alindra's constellation. It's much further off in the horizon now."

"Well, it is getting late in the year. Stars move about through the seasons." Leliana noted. Legam nodded.

"Oh, I know. It is just a reminder of how much time has passed. He scratched his beard, turning his eyes back down to the Orlesian." Sometimes, it's hard to believe less than a year ago I left the Circle to join the Wardens."

"I know what you mean," Leliana thought on all their accomplishments during the past several months. "It is amazing where life takes one sometimes, no? When I stepped out of Lotherring's cloister, I had no idea where my path would lead. I walked where the Maker led me and..." The bard threaded her fingers through his, smiling sweetly. "He has rewarded me for my faith. I found _you_."

Legam chuckled, running his thumb along the back of her hand. "What, am I some sort of divine gift, now?"

Leliana grinned, "Something like that. The Maker wants His children to be happy. Why else create the capacity in us for love, if we were not meant to share it?"

The mage returned her smile. "Very true. Then I must remember to thank Him for bringing us together."

Elated by his agreement, Leliana squeezed his hand tenderly. "You don't know how it makes me feel to hear you say that." She paused, considering her options. The hour drew late, and who knew what tomorrow brought? No time like the present. She decided to start dropping hints. "But now it's getting late. I think I might... Turn in early." The corners of her mouth curled into a coy smile. "I can't help thinking about how _soft _and _warm _my bedroll is."

Legam raised an eyebrow. True, the night grew late, but Leliana rarely went to sleep this early. Was she tired of conversation? "You don't want to talk to me anymore?"

"Oh, of course I do. You know I enjoy your company." She shook her head, resisting a chuckle. Legam could be so innocent sometimes. "But it's getting a little _chilly _and I'd prefer to be in my bedroll." Leliana jerked her head in the direction of her tent, hoping to reinforce her implication.

Legam nodded. The nights did get rather cold around here, and they spent a long day traveling. He understood her need to retire. "Well, I shan't keep you." The mage turned to leave, relaxing his grip on her hand.

Leliana managed to grip the tips of his digits before his hand slipped completely from her grasp, halting his departure. Why did he toy with her like this? Perhaps he required a more direct hint. "You know, it would be nice if you came with me."

He tilted his head. Now he was truly baffled. Did Leliana not just say she wanted to sleep? "What for?"

Leliana bit her lip, growing frustrated. No man could truly be this dense, could they? "So I can show you my collection of pressed flowers, _obviously_." She muttered through her teeth, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Legam wracked his brain for tidbits of their past conversations. Did she mention this before? Her mother did keep dried flower petals, but he was fairly certain Leliana never mentioned a collection of her own before. "Huh. I didn't know you collected pressed flowers."

Her jaw slacked slightly, stumped Legam carried the jest this far, "I... Don't." She frowned, tired of this game. "Stop pretending you don't know what I want!"

The mage cringed, noting the ire in her voice. What did he say that offended her so? Women confounded him sometimes. "I have no idea what's going on…" He whimpered, rubbing his head and furrowing his dark eyebrows.

"Oh, the games you play." Leliana sighed deeply. Perhaps Legam was that dense, after all. No more dancing around the issue then. "Listen, I want to spend the night with you. There, I said it."

Legam scrunched his face, processing her words. His features relaxed, eyes widening in realization at last. "You…" He felt as though every drop of blood in his body rushed to his face, burning his ears and cheeks. "…You want me to come to bed?"

Leliana threw her hands up into the air, though she could not keep the mirth from her voice. "Oh, _now _he gets it." She crossed her arms, amused by his shock.

His insides fluttered, mind scrambling in panic. Fumbling his hands, the mage babbled, unable to form words. Finally he stammered, "C-can't! Bad time! Later!" and fled off to the far side of camp.

Leliana's arms dropped, shocked. "W-what?" She never expected such a reaction. Why would he turn her down? Unease clawed at her heart, hurt by his rejection.

"Astounding. I did not realize mages could dash so quickly." Zevran's thickly accented, amused voice chuckled behind her. "What did you say to frighten the poor lad so?"

The pain of rejection shifted into indignant anger. "Mind your own business, Zevran." She snapped.

The Antivan assassin threw his hands up defensively. "Such ire coming from as lovely a creature as you! Trouble in paradise, I take it?"

"I said leave me be! I am in no mood for your harassment." Leliana scowled, avoiding the elf's gaze, lest she strangle him out of frustration.

Unperturbed, Zevran rubbed his thumb across the tips of his fingers, smirking. He had caught bits of the conversation earlier, and knew exactly what the problem was. Truthfully, the former Crow held an insight from overhearing a conversation between the Wardens that he suspected his bard companion lacked. The situation humored him greatly, but perhaps he should clear the confusion anyway… In his own manner, of course.

Zevran continued eying his hand, a smug smirk pulling at his face. "Could it be," He wondered, "That our dear former seductress is not quite as good at reading men as she believes?"

Leliana turned on her heel, clenching her fists. Anger burned within, brightly as her own red hair. "Zevran! Maker help me, if you don't leave now, I will–"

"Could it be," Zevran raised his voice, cutting her off, "that she does not realize Alistair is not the only… _inexperienced _Warden in our company?"

Her anger fizzled out, replaced by confusion. "Inexperienced? Wh…" Realization dawned. "You… You mean he's never…?"

The elf hummed affirmatively. "I overheard him and Alistair talk about knocking boots some time back. Both claimed complete virginity. Considering their demeanors, is it really so surprising?"

Leliana smacked her forehead. Why hadn't Legam mentioned this before? Frustration crept back in, but sympathy quickly drove it away. No wonder the poor Rivaini ran! He knew not how to handle the situation, and probably defaulted to his old defense mechanism – flight. Best to straighten things out now before they escalated into more misunderstandings.

She relaxed her arm, letting her hand fall at her side and turned to her assassin comrade. "I can't believe I am actually saying this, but… Thank you, Zevran. Now I must go and fix this situation." Leliana walked around him, setting off to find the mage Warden.

"Don't give him too hard a time over this!" Zevran called. He paused. "Well… Actually… Perhaps you should! Both of you need a good romp!"

Red flared across Leliana's cheeks and ears. She grumbled, deciding not to justify Zevran's taunting with a response. Her search did not take long, finding the mage sitting outside his tent, his knees curled up to his chest to bury his head within them. She stopped a few feet away, playing with her hands nervously.

"So… May we speak?"

Legam startled slightly, looking up at her. He rubbed his neck bashfully, "Leli! I… I–I'm so sorry about that! I j… just never…"

She sat down next to him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's all right. Zevran told me that you are… inexperienced."

He pressed his palm against his face, crimson with embarrassment. "I… I'm not sure I want to know how he ascertained that, but… Yes. I've… Erm… Never 'licked a lamppost in winter,' as Alistair would say."

Leliana couldn't resist a giggle. "'Licked a lamppost?'"

Legam chuckled, "Well, that's his euphemism of choice."

"You know, you could have told me you were a virgin instead of scampering away like a startled cat." The bard teased, nudging his shoulder.

He shrugged, "I just… I don't know. I don't talk about it, because I don't think about it much, to be honest. I know it's unusual at my age to be so unversed, especially considering mage promiscuity, but…" Legam shrugged once again, "I just never bothered back at the Circle, I suppose. I always enjoyed tales of romance and love, but most of the female mages weren't interested in me. I dedicated my time to my studies and spells."

Leliana arched an eyebrow. "And yet you flirt with me and listen to all my tales of my rather unscrupulous past."

The mage scratched his head, "As you say, the past should remain there. I don't judge or begrudge your seductive history. In regards to the flirting… What can I say? I suppose I have a weakness for Orlesian accents." He grinned a little.

She snickered, batting his arm playfully. "Well, I am glad we cleared this up." Leliana straightened her expression, turning more serious. "I did not mean to make you so uncomfortable though, and…" She cleared her throat, "I understand your reluctance. I love you, and I won't ask anything of you that makes you uncomfortable." Leliana squeezed his hand reassuringly, planting a gentle kiss upon his cheek.

The bard rose to leave, but Legam placed a firm hand on her shoulder to stop her. She eyed him inquisitively. He hesitated, biting his lower lip. Finally, he spoke. "It's… Mn… It's not that I don't _want _to…" Color flooded his face again. "Just… Considering our different areas of experience… I'm afraid you'll find my… ah… 'performance' rather… disappointing." He rubbed his neck again, averting her gaze.

Leliana relaxed, touched by his concern and pitying his lack of confidence. She curled a few fingers around his bearded chin, coaxing his head to face her. "Is that what this is really all about?" His eyes glanced away, and Leliana chuckled at his shyness. "My dearest one, as I said, I love you. You cannot possibly disappoint me. Everybody starts somewhere, and I would be happy to guide you through the… Nuances." The tiniest hint of a sly smirk spread across her lips.

"I…" His blush flared so brightly even his chocolate skin failed to conceal it, "If… You have the patience to tutor me through my bumbling…"

Her grin stretched, wide enough to show teeth, "I think you'll find me a very supportive teacher." Leliana rose slowly, taking Legam's hands in hers and guiding the mage to his feet. "But come. Such lessons are meant for more private locations."

Though his hands trembled in her gentle hold, Legam allowed the bard to lead him into his tent. "I am yours to command, milady…"

~*~*~

Zevran sat by the central camp fire, but his attention focused on the exchange between his party leader and the Orlesian bard. When the two retreated into the seclusion of Legam's tent, the elf shook his head and chuckled lowly. Noticing Alistair across the fire, eying him quizzically, Zevran laughed.

"It seems soon you will be the only person in our company belonging to the untapped boots club." The elf teased. The ex-templar's eyebrows shot further up his forehead.

"What on earth are you talking about? What have my boots got to do with anything?"

Zevran didn't elaborate, merely guffawing at the Grey Warden's expense.

~*~*~

Leliana curled up beside Legam, resting her head upon his collarbone. Her lover's gasping breaths, still winded after their excursions, gently rocked her face against his chest. The bard idly ran a finger across his stomach, tracing the smatterings of hair that ran from his pectorals all the way past his belly button. She found his body hair intriguing; most men in Orlais lacked much of it – if not due to heredity, than due to Orlesian shaving fashions.

Smirking slightly at her musings, Leliana lightly poked Legam's belly, amused by its pudginess. It wasn't enough to notice when the mage wore his robes, but it did make him a tad… Squishier. She didn't mind that, either. The redheaded Orlesian sighed, relaxed and content. She looked up at her Grey Warden, smiling.

"Now, was that really something to get all worked up over?" She teased. Legam lazily raised a hand to his forehead, pushing several stray strands of hair back while managing a small, winded chuckle.

"There's a double-entendre in there, but I currently lack the coherency to properly address it." He breathed. Leliana laughed. Recovering most of his breath finally, Legam reached an arm up to softly fiddle with her braid. "It is no wonder you were such a successful seductress back in Orlais."

Leliana smirked impishly, "Oh, this is simply a preface to a whole new chapter in your life, my dear. I have yet many things to teach you."

He chuckled again, "I only hope my attempts were not too clunky and awkward, like everything else I do around you."

The bard giggled, "Perhaps a little, but that is part of your charm." Leliana tapped the tip of his nose teasingly. "Besides, the art of lovemaking is like any other skill: one's abilities improve the more you practice."

"Then I eagerly await future rehearsals." Legam kissed her, sleepiness seeping into the corners of his consciousness. He yawned, nuzzling Leliana and resting his cheek atop her head. "Unfortunately… I lack the energy for another tutoring session tonight." The mage yawned again, emphasizing his fatigue.

Leliana lazily draped an arm around his chest, also starting to feel the pull of sleep. "Rest is a good idea." She agreed.

Legam wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her closer to his side. Comfortable and warm, the mage felt his eyelids drooping. "Mn. I think I'll enjoy sleeping like this," he murmured.

Leliana nodded slowly, her own eyelids getting heavy, "Indeed. It is soothing to sleep while in the arms of your love." She pecked his trim beard, too tired to raise her head higher than his chin. "Sweet dreams, Legam."

The Grey Warden muttered a barely intelligible, "You too," before his breathing slowed into the quiet rhythm of dreams. Leliana smiled contently, warm and secure in Legam's embrace. Her eyes slowly closed, weariness setting in. Nuzzling her cheek against his neck and shoulder, the bard's smile spread, and she drifted into a peaceful slumber. After all her trials and tribulations, she finally found home.


	9. Late Autumn

The archdemon roared, its bellow echoing through the spires of Fort Drakon and down into Denerim below. It leaned back, opening its giant maw to emit deadly purple flames. Its foes – a mishmash of mages, Dalish elves, dwarves and Redcliffe soldiers scrambled out of the way, attempting to avoid darkspawn blades as they moved.

Leliana dodged with the gathered forces, taking cover near one of the ballistae. Her heart thudded in her chest, scanning the crowd of darkspawn and men for her other allies. Here at the climax of all their battles, she worried for the safety of her friends – especially the survival of her love.

Spotting Legam running towards her, closely pursued by shrieks and hurlocks, Leliana silently thanked the Maker. Notching an arrow, the bard pulled back, letting the missile fly and knock over one of the mage's chasers. Rapidly retrieving and firing arrows, Leliana dispatched all of the darkspawn pursuers by the time Legam reached the ballista beside her.

Nodding his head in silent thanks, the mage ran over to the giant contraption, moving it into position. Leliana stood by his side, keeping an open eye for any more enemies to slay or nearby allies to aid.

Legam pulled back on the ballista's trigger, loading a large bolt into the slot. Once the missile was secured, he focused his sights on the archdemon, carefully aiming the siege weapon. He pulled back on the firing mechanism, sending the missile flying.

The bolt slammed into archdemon's shoulder, finally knocking the beast to the ground, stunned. Legam collapsed against the ballista, exhausted. Gathering the last shreds of his energy, the mage clenched his hand into a determined fist, pushing himself back up on his feet. The darkspawn leader was incapacitated, not dead – and that needed rectifying, fast. He looked at his staff then tossed it aside. The Warden was too drained to use magic, so something sharp and pointy would have to suffice.

As the Rivain mage scanned the battlefield for a spare blade, he felt a firm, gauntleted hand clap his shoulder. Turning, he faced Alistair – fellow Grey Warden and future king of Ferelden.

"Wait," the strawberry-blond templar urged, "What if… What if Morrigan's wrong? If the ritual didn't take, then whoever strikes the final blow… Well, you know."

Leliana, previously occupied with shooting down the last few darkspawn on the tower, snapped to attention. She turned her head to the two Wardens. "Ritual? What are you talking about?"

Either the two men didn't hear her, or they chose to ignore her. Legam glanced back at the crumpled dragon, biting his lip. He turned his head back, shaking it slowly.

"I'll do it," Legam's eyebrows furrowed in determination. When Alistair opened his mouth to protest, the mage held up a hand to halt him. "No, don't start the noble act. We're both Grey Wardens, we know the risks. You have a kingdom to rule. Anora knows how to run a government, but you have the connection to the common folk she lacks. Ferelden needs that balance."

Alistair smiled, "I still think I'd be a piss poor king, but there's no arguing with you over that, is there?"

Legam returned the grin, "Nope. Besides…" His face turned serious again, his voice lowering, "I… Convinced you to do ritual because I couldn't bring myself to do it… Even though I get along with Morrigan far better than you ever did."

Leliana crossed her arms, growing irritated, "What are you two talking about? What's this about Morrigan?"

A quick glance in her direction told Leliana Legam heard her, but still he didn't answer. Instead, the mage continued addressing Alistair. "And I made you king, though you never wanted it. I've been a bit of a horrid friend this past month or so, haven't I? If I'm wrong, and the soul doesn't… Well, redirect itself… Then it's my responsibility to pay the price. You've done more than enough, Alistair."

Shale eyed the archdemon, seeing it begin to stir. "Would somebody just go and squish the damn thing's head, before I do?"

Alistair nodded to Legam, "Maker protect you, my friend." The Rivain nodded back, dashing off down the ramp and towards the Old God.

Leliana stood next to Alistair, glaring. "What is going on? What were you two talking about?" Her companion bit his lip, reluctant. Her patience snapped – the bard grabbed the templar by the collar of his breastplate, pulling his face down level with hers. "Alistair."

The Grey Warden played with his fingers, glancing around nervously, "Well, you see… Ah… Morrigan had this ritual to help us with slaying the archdemon. I'd… Rather not think about the details."

Leliana huffed. "I gathered that much. I don't care about the particulars. What did you need it for?"

Legam spotted a great sword embedded in the heart of a fallen soldier. He glanced at the rising archdemon. The mage yanked out the blade with some effort, stumbling back a few paces from the weight.

Alistair laughed nervously, "Eheh, well… Uh… It's to hopefully stop… Eh…" The Orlesian bard's leer told him he'd best satisfy her curiosity quickly. Inhaling deeply, he began rambling, "You know how Wardens are tainted after the Joining, right? Well, along with sensing darkspawn and dying young, it has one more added benefit. When a Warden kills an archdemon, our taint draws in its soul and destroys it."

Finally stabilized, Legam charged at the giant dragon. It roared, diving its head at the Rivaini Warden. Crouching low, Legam dodged its attack, bracing his hands against the hilt and holding the sword up high. The archdemon slammed right into it, slicing open its neck as it moved through the sword.

Leliana's grip on Alistair eased, dread sinking in. "That… Doesn't sound good for the Warden."

"Ah… It's not. The Warden tends to die from i– Oof!" Leliana shoved Alistair aside, running after Legam. The mage had yanked the blade free from the archdemon's neck, stepping back as the dragon's head pounded into the ground once again. Legam panted, short of breath.

"**Wait!**" Leliana yelled desperately, stretching one arm out, her fingers spread apart in a plea of cessation. "**Stop!**"

Too late. Scowling, Legam flipped the sword in his grasp, pointing the edge downwards. The mage raised the sword above his head, bellowing in an almost ungodly war cry. He thrust the weapon down, impaling it upon the archdemon's skull in a geyser of blood. The second steel met darkspawn flesh, bright yellow rays of light emitted from the wound, reaching up into the skies and engulfing the Warden and archdemon in an ethereal glow.

Leliana skidded to a halt, raising her arm to shield her eyes from the blinding light. Alistair ran up next to her, also stopping short a few dozen yards away from Legam and the archdemon. They watched the mage struggle to hold on to the blade, his body twisting as the life force of the Old God passed through him. Leliana lurched forward a pace, apparently wishing to help her love. She thought better of it and stepped back again, instead exchanging a worried glance with Alistair.

The energy from the deadly dragon literally exploded, throwing everyone into the air. A deafening sonic boom resounded in their ears as they all slammed back into the fort's rooftop.

~*~*~

Heavy, nauseating scents of smoke and decay greeted Leliana's nostrils when she regained consciousness. Groaning and coughing, the bard slowly sat up, her body aching all over. She blinked a few times, her eyes slowly coming back into focus. Alistair stirred beside her, as did Shale further behind them. Scanning the battlefield, she spotted the grisly remains of the arch demon, sticky with gore and smoking. Leliana scrunched her nose in disgust, but continued looking for Legam. Finding no trace of him, the bard grew worried, rising to her feet to better survey the scene.

Alistair groaned again, sitting up. He rubbed his back. "I think that fall broke my spine," the templar exaggerated painfully. Leliana offered him a hand, helping her companion rise to his feet.

Shale stomped over, no worse for the wear, "I see the sister and Warden managed to not get squished by the darkspawn." The golem looked about, frowning, "But where is It?"

The templar Warden scrunched his face, concerned. "I don't know. It's hard to see through all the smoke…" He squinted, spotting a bloodied sword lying some yards away from the archdemon's carcass. "Well, there's the sword…"

"Maker's breath!" Leliana gasped, covering her mouth. She spotted a crumpled body some feet away from the blade. The bard dashed onward, ignoring the pain shooting through her limbs as she moved. "Legam!"

She slid to a stop when she reached the Rivain's still form. Covered in blood – likely the archdemon's – the mage lay on his back, eyes shut and lips barely parted to reveal bloody teeth. He made no movement or noise – not even the soft stirrings of breathing.

Leliana dropped to her knees beside him, reaching a trembling hand towards his ichor-splattered face. "Legam?" No response. Gently she grabbed his chin, turning his face forward, hoping for a reaction. "Legam?" Releasing her hold, Leliana watched his head slump back to the side, muscles completely lax. Tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision.

Alistair jogged over, still rubbing his sore back. Seeing the mage's stillness and the bard's crying, he clenched his fist and cursed. "Damn you, Morrigan. I knew we shouldn't trust her. If I ever see that **** again, I'll –"

Loud, gurgling coughs interrupted Alistair's ranting.

Their attention grabbed, the two humans swung their vision back down to the red-drenched mage. Legam's body shook as he coughed again, slowly raising a fist to contain his hacking. He rolled his head to face the sky, eyelids cracking open. His green eyes dilated, adjusting to the light.

"You know…" Legam rasped, "It would've been bloody brilliant if Riordan had warned us about archdemons exploding beforehand." He leaned his head back, squeezing his eyes shut and grumbling in pain.

Alistair laughed at the quip, relieved to see his comrade still breathed. Leliana gasped out something between a chuckle and a sob, throwing her arms around the mage's shoulders and pulling him up into a fierce hug.

"I swear if you ever frighten me like that again, exploding archdemons will be the least of your concerns." She vowed, burying her face into the base of his neck.

Legam flinched, his muscles aching at the sudden contact. Regardless of the pain, he smiled warmly and encircled his arms around the bard, completing the embrace. "Ooh, how dramatic." He teased, quoting Leliana from a previous conversation, "I'm holding you to that promise."

Relief and awe at their victory nearly overwhelmed the group, surveying the remains of their epic combat. Against all odds, they halted the Blight in its tracks, and everyone still lived to enjoy their triumph… And mourn the harsh reality of the destructive aftermath. There was much work yet ahead – picking off the darkspawn strays, rebuilding a nation, Alistair's coronation.

For the moment, the friends allowed themselves a small reprieve: a year's worth of adventure, blood, heartache and struggle all come to fruition. To call it satisfying hardly did the onslaught of emotions justice.

Legam, too weak to walk on his own feet, leaned on Alistair and Leliana for support before Shale begrudgingly swept him up into its arms.

"We will not speak of this again after today," the golem promised, "Let us just focus on finding Its fellow fleshy companions." Legam merely laughed in reply.

As the four triumphant companions began their descent down Fort Drakon, Leliana's bright blue gaze met Legam's green eyes. They smiled and nodded at one another, silently exchanging an affirmation of victory, congratulations, and mutual affection. Today, they had indeed forged a legend of their own.


	10. Early Winter

Legam toyed with the downy shoulders of his Tevinter robes, his insides fluttering. He stood inside Denerim's royal palace, at the front of the Great Hall. His friend and new king of Ferelden, Alistair, smiled warmly at the Rivaini mage. The monarch turned back to the crowd as he delivered a rather touching speech on the arcane Warden's accomplishments.

Or, at least, Legam assumed it was touching, judging by the looks on the faces of the gathered celebrators. The mage himself did not listen, for fear of standing before a crowd of hundreds drove all focus from his mind.

His fingers ran through the short feathers once more in an attempt to distract his nerves. The exotic fashioned vestments were the only remotely formal attire he owned; the Chasind robes he often wore these days were far too ragged and uncivilized in style to even consider wearing to a victory celebration amongst Ferelden's nobility. At least, Leliana told him such when she caught him dressing for the gala.

A tiny smile cracked through the jittery mage's façade. With no small amusement, he recalled his bard's horrified face as he fastened the belts to his outfit.

"Surely you are not wearing that to the ceremony?" She gasped.

Legam quirked an eyebrow at her, "Why not? They're comfortable robes. I don't see why I can't wear them today."

The expression upon the Orlesian's face conveyed a level of horror on par with the prospect of facing three archdemons simultaneously. Instantly, Legam realized his mistake. A long tirade of fashion principles, criticisms of "excessive Ferelden practicality," and other such topics over the mage's head followed.

Somewhere between Leliana's speech and the coronation, Legam found himself in the bright blue Tevinter robes. Apparently, their azure tone "complimented his eyes." Unsure what that meant, he nonetheless complied with Leliana's fussing. Long ago he learned she enjoyed fashion, whereas he paid it little heed. If wearing the slightly stiff Imperium robes made his lady happy, then he wore them gladly.

"Is there any sort of boon you wish granted, my friend?" Alistair's voice snapped Legam out of his recollections. He stared back at his comrade, only half aware of the king's question. Alistair chuckled, amused to catch the mage in a moment of inattention. "Surely after all you have done, you deserve some sort of reward. Ask me anything – if it is within my power, I shall grant it."

Legam bit his lip, pondering. What did he want? Truly, a year-and-a-half ago he would've answered "to go back to the Circle and live quietly," but he knew such a life remained out of his grasp. Even if he were to return, the Circle felt too small to him now. Though he still preferred quiet and serenity to the hectic pace of an adventurer's life, he admitted there was a certain appeal in seeking out new sights. Not to mention much work remained in rebuilding the country.

To be rid of the Taint, perhaps? He never wanted to be a Grey Warden, but with the council of Wynne and the support of Leliana, he'd long ago resigned himself to at least some Warden duties for the rest of his days. Duty may not always call him, but a sense of responsibility in helping others certainly did.

While he accepted his role as a Warden to some degree, Legam still hoped to rid himself of the Taint's more deadly consequences. However, that was beyond Alistair's power – and when Legam spared Avernus under the condition he continue his research more ethically, he also ensured said research took far longer to complete.

Riches? Legam already acquired sufficient funds during his fight against the Blight to buy a comfortable home in Denerim, with enough to spare for several charities. Besides, he saw money as a means of survival in the outside world – and even then, one did not need it in abundance. Coin never struck him as something to covet for its own sake.

Love? He already had Leliana and all his friends – save Morrigan – gathered here today. While he pondered the witch's fate, he respected her desire to leave and be left alone. So long as she and her child caused no unprovoked harm, he would not seek them out – despite his uncertainty in the wisdom of having the ritual done in the first place.

The mage sighed heavily. After recovering somewhat from the battle with the archdemon, he had explained the situation with Morrigan and her ritual to Leliana. She reacted much as expected – hurt by his omission, and angered he neglected to consult with her first before making a decision. Her ire did not last long, however. Leliana understood his reasons, and while she still wondered if letting Morrigan raise a reborn Old God proved wise, she was glad Legam survived slaying the archdemon. Selfish, yes, but as Wynne warned, love was selfish sometimes.

Pulling himself out of his inner moping, Legam turned his gaze back to Ferelden's newest monarch, "Nothing, your Majesty," he answered with complete honesty, "There is nothing more I want."

Alistair's light eyebrows quirked slightly, revealing his surprise – however mild. "Truly? Nothing at all? You're really taking this 'hero' thing seriously, aren't you?" The ex-templar smirked teasingly before his smile softened with more sincerity, "Well, allow me to do something for you, regardless." He turned to face the crowd, projecting his voice.

"Let it be known from this day forward that the Circle of Mages will operate independent of the Chantry. I believe our friend here has proven the good a mage can do for our nation. The mages will govern themselves, and the templars shall stick to hunting down apostates."

The crowd broke into a mingling of astonished gasps, protests, and cries of support. Legam spotted Irving in the crowd, and even the first enchanter's beard could not hide his surprise. The Rivaini would laugh at the sight, but his own jaw was slack at the moment.

Alistair clapped a hand on the bemused mage's shoulder, lowering his voice, "You can take that as my way of saying' I forgive you' for making me king and doing Morrigan's ritual."

Legam gathered all his self-restraint and resisted the urge to hug Alistair before a large audience. He settled for a low waist-bow and a sputtered, "T-thank you, your Grace. You are… Far, far too kind."

"And don't you forget it." Alistair grinned. Raising his voice over the crowd, he addressed the Warden more publicly. "So, what are your plans now? Anything special?" The crowd ceased their mutterings, curious what path their hero wished to seek.

Legam felt their eyes upon him, his cheeks and ears flushing at the unwanted attention. He paused yet again to ponder, though his answer came quicker this time. "I think I shall stay and help the Wardens rebuild in Amaranthine, at least for a while."

"A fine plan. I hope you intend to visit often, though. Don't forget, you promised you'd be my advisor." Alistair's tone indicated mirth mingled with slight trepidation. He still feared the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

His mage companion smiled, "I imagine Arl Eamon can help you well enough when I am away, but don't think I'll abandon you. Even if my feet take me elsewhere, I think I'll always return to Denerim. I was born here after all. Besides, you'll need help rebuilding the city, too."

Alistair nodded before looking back out at the crowd, which began to disperse and mingle amongst themselves. "Well, you'd best get going and tend to your adoring crowd. Apparently, there's quite a vocal gathering outside. Many of the common folk wish to see their savior. Best not to keep them waiting."

Legam rubbed his neck, unenthused. He hated crowds and formalities, but what could he do? Business before pleasure. The mage gazed out into the mob, spotting Shale and Sten instantly. At the very least, he mused, he could speak with his friends before enduring more public appearances. Legam exhaled deeply, looking back at Alistair, "I suppose not. I will speak with you later, my friend. Ensure you enjoy yourself as well." He held out his hand, an open gesture of friendship.

Alistair happily clapped his gauntleted hand against the mage's. Legam winced slightly at the impact, though Alistair paid no mind. "Take care. If anyone starts hassling you, let me know and I'll sic the guards on them."

They laughed together, releasing their grasp on each other. Legam gave the king one last smile before walking down the stone steps, preparing to exercise his rather lacking mingling skills.

~*~*~

Legam leaned against a post, exhausted. Navigating through the sea of nobility proved more difficult than fighting darkspawn – every two paces, somebody stopped him and engaged in conversation. How he managed to speak with as many of his friends as he did in an hour, he knew not. And then there were the masses outside! While such levels of support for a mage from the commoners proved a pleasant change of pace, Legam scarcely heard himself think over the din of their cheering.

Several hours of hand-shaking, nodding, and gracious "you're welcomes" later, Legam finally returned to the festivities indoors. By now, the sun sank below the hills, quickly transitioning the day into evening. Thankfully, portions of the nobles either left for home or gathered for dinner, finally allowing Legam a chance to breathe and take time for himself. The mage sighed, running a hand through his hair.

The reality of the Blight's end still did not quite sink in, though his earlier conversations with his companions did help cement the fact their little group had few reasons to remain as they were. Alistair had governmental duties to attend, and Sten decided to finally report back to the arashok – though not before thanking his kadan once more for finding his sword. Wynne planned to travel with Shale into Tevinter in hopes of discovering a way to revert its golem status. Considering the stone creature's distaste for anything "fleshy," this decision caught Legam by surprise. Apparently, his influence convinced the golem that being a "squishy fleshling" was not all bad. Legam supposed he should take that as the highest form of respect from Shale.

Not everyone ventured far away, at least. Oghren chose to remain in Denerim for now, perhaps getting in touch with Felsi again. The dwarf left his options open, and Legam wagered he and Oghren would cross paths again soon.

Benjamin, Legam's loyal Mabari, went where he did, of course – but today the dog kept Sten company. The two respected each other as warriors, so Legam figured Benjamin wished to share the Qunari's company one last time before he returned to the Marshes.

Zevran, in his own jibbing way, offered to join Legam in rebuilding the Wardens. Apparently they "needed a mascot." The mage laughed at the thought of an Antivan Crow being a mascot for anything, but he welcomed the assassin's company regardless. While he and Zevran frequently did not share the same outlook on things – and more often than not, the elf grated on Leliana's nerves – Legam had formed a strong friendship with him, and, oddly enough, trusted the Crow with his life.

Legam only hoped Leliana did not protest Zevran's company. After all, she would be accompanying him as well. Or, at least… he assumed she was. The mage frowned. He'd yet to find the Orlesian in the crowd, and since the archdemon's death, the couple barely had ten minutes alone with one another – nor the time to discuss their plans after events calmed.

True, in months past they talked about their future. Leliana assured Legam she intended to remain in his company, regardless of what happened. Nonetheless, his worrisome side wondered if that remained true now. Perhaps she'd find aiding him in Warden business too boring, or–

"Ah, there is the man of the hour." The subject of his woes broke Legam away from them. Relaxing a little, he turned to face his beloved bard. A grin spread across his bearded face, observing the elegant dress she wore, adorned in warm colors. Though he disliked dressing formally himself, Legam certainly appreciated fancier attire on Leliana. A double standard perhaps, but love did that sometimes.

Noticing his ogling, Leliana rolled her eyes, but allowed herself a soft chuckle. She continued talking, hoping to bring his attention back to her words and not her dress, "It's all rather theatrical, I think. The conquering hero has won the day, and now he takes his bow and exits the stage. A fine ending." She smiled warmly at the mage.

A smile he returned, taking one of her hands in both of his. "A fine ending indeed," he agreed, his eyes glittering in mirth as he leveled his gaze with hers, "Yet one important plot thread remains untied: Does the hero get his girl?"

Leliana laughed lowly. "Yes," she affirmed, her ice-colored eyes mirroring his amusement, "Yes, he most certainly does."

"Good." Legam lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it, "You know the inner romantic in me loves sappy endings."

The Orlesian chuckled once more, gazing at the other party goers. "You know, I can't help now but think of my vision. I do not doubt that the Maker sent me to help you, and look what you did!" She turned back to Legam, smiling warmly, "It's truly a miracle."

"It really does feel like that, to at least some degree," Legam agreed, running his thumb across the back of her hand affectionately, "Though I like to believe it's the result of ten individuals busting their arses for the better part of two years, coupled with a healthy dose of divine intervention."

"Heh, I suppose you are right." Leliana squeezed his hand gently. A ginger eyebrow rose, "So… If I heard right earlier, you plan on rebuilding the Wardens, no?"

"Indeed I do." Legam nodded.

"I have to admit, that caught me a bit by surprise. I thought you'd be eager to give up the lifestyle as soon as you were able."

"Truth be told, the option remains very tempting," Legam admitted, "And I don't plan on being the most active member, but… Ferelden needs to recover, and it needs more Wardens. They serve an important purpose, and I would be glad to at least assist them in regaining a foothold here."

"A fine plan, truly." Leliana commended. Her lips curled upwards mischieviously, "As it so happens, my plan is to do exactly the same thing."

Hearing those words, relief and joy filled Legam's heart. He returned her teasing, sporting his own smirk. "Damn right it is." Legam's fingers pushed gently against Leliana's chin, coaxing it upwards towards his own face.

The bard laughed yet again, "Well, I'm glad we cleared that up," she teased before their lips connected. Legam's hands circled around her waist, pulling Leliana flush with him. A muffled yelp escaped Leliana's mouth, surprised by his forwardness. Usually, the mage let her take charge, but Legam grew slightly bolder with her each passing day; a select few times he even invited her to bed without prior coaxing.

And Andraste's flaming sword, did Leliana enjoy those moments when her mage took the reins. She didn't mind leading the steps, but Legam's occasional bold streaks frequently led to rather pleasant surprises. The bard found herself trying to recall which wing in the palace housed their temporary accommodations.

Perhaps sensing Leliana's train of thought, Legam broke away from the kiss, not quite ready to seek further privacy just yet. Another matter needed attending at the moment. Best to get it out of the way, while his mind remained clear. Closing his eyes to inhale – and to avoid seeing Leliana's slight pout – Legam spoke, "By the way – I hope you do not mind, but Zevran will be joining us."

"Zevran?" Legam peeked open an eye to see Leliana frown slightly. She sighed, shaking her head, "I admit I never expected him to remain after the Blight, but… Now that I think on it more, I should not be so surprised. Despite his… _quirks_… He is a rather loyal friend."

Legam exhaled slightly, relieved. "So, you'll be able to put up with his… Mannerisms?"

Leliana smirked, glancing up at the Rivaini man, "For you, yes. Besides, Zevran is not _all _entirely bad. I think I can manage." She paused a moment before querying, "Are there any of the others joining us as well? I only spoke with Alistair and Wynne, but I gather the group is parting ways soon."

Legam nodded, "Aye. Benjamin will come along, of course, and I'm certain we'll see Alistair and Oghren when we're in Denerim, but the others are going their own ways."

"It will be strange without everyone together." Leliana sighed, then smirked again, "But I suppose this means we'll have a bit more privacy at camp."

The mage chuckled, rolling his eyes, "Again, I remind you that Zevran _is _coming with us."

Her lips thinned, barely withholding a frown, "Well, warn him that if he wishes to tag along, he'd best stop offering to assist you in my 'considerable need for release,' or I swear I will drive one of his daggers up his – "

"All right," Legam interrupted, laughing, "All right, I get it. I'll be sure to pass the warning on." He rested his forehead against hers, his laughter lowering into a chuckle. "Ah, _je t'aime_, Leliana. You may fool others with the innocent Chantry girl act, but you are quite the spitfire sometimes."

Leliana raised an eyebrow at the Orlesian phrase. "Hm. Not too terrible a pronunciation, though your Ferelden accent is a bit heavy."

"Oh? You're one to comment on heavier accents." Legam grinned.

The bard chuckled, conceding his point, "But where did you learn to say 'I love you' in Orlesian? I'm fairly certain you never asked me how to say it."

"I never did ask you, no. But I did pick it up from you." The corners of the mage's lips pulled back into a wicked grin. "You know, Leli, I've noticed you often revert into Orlesian during more… passionate moments. I suspected '_Je t'aime_' meant 'I love you,' or similar, considering how often you repeat it."

Leliana felt her cheeks flush as an amused Legam continued, "When I saw Erlina earlier today, I decided to see if she could confirm such, which she did." The Warden's smirk spread wider, "However, when I quoted some of the other phrases I've heard you say, the elf turned bright red and claimed it would be 'unladylike' for her to translate them. Hurried off rather quickly afterwards."

Her cheeks burning, Leliana buried her face in his chest, torn between embarrassment and amusement. The latter defeated the former, and though the bard's cheeks still tinged with crimson, when she resurfaced her laughter drew attention away from her blush. "Next time, perhaps you should just ask me to translate, so you don't go embarrassing any more Orlesian servants!"

"Now where's the fun in that?" Legam snickered. They giggled together for several minutes before calming down. The mage sighed, eyeing the late hour upon the nearest clock and watching the remaining nobles mingle by the banquet.

"Parties are much more enjoyable when the crowds thin."

"I don't know," Leliana disagreed, turning her head toward the other guests, "It is calmer, but there's a certain thrill in standing on center stage, so to speak."

Legam rolled his eyes, teasing, "Well, of course a _bard _thinks such. Especially one from Orlais! You Orlesian minstrels and your wanton need for attention, tsk!"

"What can I say? I enjoy performing before an audience." She traced a finger idly along the contours of his robe, her smile turning sly. "Of course, some acts are reserved for private performances, away from the crowds."

Over the past few months, Legam learned to decipher Leliana's code for bedroom invitations. Thinking of no other reasons to delay their own personal celebrations, the mage returned her smirk. His arms, still draped around her waist, gently pulled the bard even closer, their stomachs touching. "Oh? And where does one go to enjoy such performances?"

Leliana chuckled, tilting her head to the side. "I know a fine location –spacious, comfortable seating, complete with its own fireplace. Perfect for… Mood lighting."

Knowing she described their guest bedroom at the palace, Legam raised one eyebrow, "Sounds quite lovely. Perhaps the minstrel could kindly guide her captive audience to this venue?"

The bard pressed her palms against his chest, gently pushing herself away from Legam. Leliana reached down, taking one of his hands in hers. "Of course. Follow me." Threading their fingers and giving his hand a soft squeeze, Leliana began her trek down the hallway, a smug mage Warden in tow.

~*~*~

_Whew, took me a while to get this one out. Been really busy as of late. Still have two more to go. I'll try not to take as long with the final two chapters, but since they won't be based off specific game moments, they might prove harder to write. We'll see. Since I intend to finish this before the Awakening expansion comes out, I'll do my best to be vague in some parts so that the events from it (hopefully) fit in with what I'll have here. If not, I may go back later and change things around._

_On a final note, if anyone's wondering where Schmooples went… He's being nug-sat by Wynne. :D Originally, I had a few lines including them at the end, but they felt awkward/out of balance with the rest of the story, and so I cut them out._

_Thank you to the few of you who reviewed these so far. Feedback is much appreciated, though never required. Reviews or not, I hope everyone reading these has enjoyed them thus far. :)_


	11. Mid Winter

Holding another's hand: an open and warm action, yet less intimate than other deeds. No matter what life threw at Leliana and Legam, they always found affirmation and comfort in this simple statement of affection. Their clasped fingers spoke words their mouths could not. In times of stress, a gentle squeeze promised, _"I'm here for you._" When walking about, whether in Denerim's back alleys or wild forests, their lazily swinging hands said, "_Where you go, I follow._" And while enveloped in the ecstasy of lovemaking, their threaded fingers mirrored their entwined bodies, vowing, "_I only bare my soul with you._"

When Legam traveled to Amaranthine to rebuild the Wardens, Leliana followed close behind. And when the Grey Wardens named Legam Commander of their order in the region (much to the mage's dismay), Leliana quietly clasped his hand, her hold affirming her support and confidence in his abilities.

The night of his promotion, Legam stood atop a small cliff face, surveying the moonlit lands below. Though Leliana's quiet footsteps escaped his hearing, the mage sensed her presence as she drew near. His eyes remained focused on the horizon, the bard stepping into place beside him. Leliana silently followed his gaze, slipping her fingers through his. Her other hand stroked his arm gently, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. By now, Leliana read Legam's moods well enough to know when to let him speak first.

They stood in silence for several minutes, the chill night air blowing her ginger hair and ruffling his robes. After releasing a long sigh, Legam spoke, "I don't know if I can do this."

"Command the Wardens?" Leliana clarified. She felt him nod. "Legam, you gathered armies, stopped a civil war, restored Maric's son to the throne, fought hordes of darkspawn, and slaughtered an archdemon. And that was just in the past three years!"

He smiled grimly, "You forgot the fifteen years prior I spent practically secluded in a tower, frittering away my days reading and sitting on my arse." The mage patted his slightly paunchy belly, "And I have the gut to prove it."

Leliana chuckled, grabbing his hand and coaxing it back down to his side. She turned to stand face-to-face with the Rivaini man, looking up into his eyes. "You suffered two traumatic experiences – in close succession – and emerged to unite nine strangers against impossible odds. You earned their trust – and love –" the Orlesian pecked his cheek affectionately for emphasis, "– by your will and conviction."

"But I faltered. Sometimes, the only things keeping me going were Wynne's council and your support." He sighed again.

"Well, Wynne may not travel with us anymore, but what do you think I am trying to do right now?" Still clasping his hand, she bopped the mage's chest half-playfully.

"Mm. I suppose you have a point. I might just get by with my own personal minstrel singing my praises." Legam cracked a small grin.

Leliana stuck out the tip of her tongue, teasing. "Own personal minstrel? Does this mean I must compose ballads of your epic accomplishments, then?"

"I'm fairly certain you've already done so, without my prodding." Legam reminded her.

She shrugged. "True, but I'd best keep it to a minimum, lest your ego get carried away."

"My ego?" He laughed, "Weren't just trying to _raise _my self-esteem a moment ago?"

The bard tapped his nose. "Yes, but a good leader carries a healthy dose of humility along with competence." She giggled when he reflexively wrinkled his nose, but soon turned serious again, "All jesting aside… I have faith in your abilities. Maker only knows why you continue to doubt yourself, when you carry an impressive track record."

Legam hugged her close, still playful, "Perhaps I do it just to hear you flatter me."

Leliana shook her head, "Sneaky boy. No more flattery for you now though, as I see your mood's lifted."

Her arcane lover laughed once more, taking both her hands in his and kissing the bard's forehead. "Most definitely." The mage squeezed her fingers appreciatively, "Thank you, Leliana."

She responded simply by returning his affectionate squeeze.

* * *

Alistair paced back and forth in his guest chambers at the Redcliffe estate. Ferelden's king often escaped quietly to Redcliffe whenever it became too difficult to avoid heated politics in Denerim. While he let Anora handle most of the actual governing, sometimes duty and tradition required his input. Recent events relating to the city's elves left the political landscape rather… Uncomfortable.

Now hidden away from all the bannorn's squabbling and bickering, he could think more clearly. He did not muse alone, however. The former Warden paced in the presence of two old friends, both sitting together at a small table usually reserved for eating or reading. They watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak first.

Heaving a great sigh, Alistair finally spoke, "Did I do the right thing?" he asked.

His mage comrade leaned forward, pushing weight onto his staff; "About the alienage?" he clarified, snorting when Alistair nodded, "Alistair, you were with us when we investigated the plague there. Even without the pestilence and the Blight, it's in an abysmal shape."

The redheaded bard beside him nodded, leaning on the table and propping her face against her fist, "Legam's right. What Denerim's elves have to live through every day is a crime against humanity." She paused, pondering her wording, "Well, perhaps not humanity, but you know –"

"Yes, Leliana," Alistair sighed, in no mood for one of her digressions, "I know what you meant. It isn't right for humans to treat elves that way. They deserve better."

"Exactly. And making Shianni a member of your personal court is a huge step in giving them a real chance to improve their lives." Legam reminded, tapping his staff against the floor.

"And appropriating a portion of last year's crop taxes towards improved housing in the alienage is another great leap," Leliana added.

Alistair grumbled, running a hand through his strawberry blond hair. "And I keep telling myself those were good, but now I've gone and pissed off half the bannorn. Anora's a bit cross over the mess, too… Though I think it's because she hates cleaning up after my messes." He bit his lip, "See, this is why I usually just let her run the show. She's much better at this 'governing' stuff than I am."

"Bah, piss on the bannorn," Legam scowled – unfortunately, a more and more common expression he bore these days when discussing Ferelden politics. "Half of them are just short-sighted fools who let tradition and passive racism blind them to progression. Sad to say, but most social improvements don't come smoothly." The mage frowned, stroking his beard.

Leliana glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. She knew that look – Legam pondered about the dwarves again. During the Blight, siding with the honorable Harrowmont seemed like the right choice. For all his honor, however, the old man's strict conservative leanings had left Orzammar stagnant and in recession. Bhelen, despite his questionable tactics, sought reform for his people – and perhaps he might have succeeded in such. Unfortunately, Legam learned this information far after the Aeducan prince's demise. Ever since Harrowmont's death months ago and the news of the struggling state of Orzammar, the mage regretted his involvement with their power struggles and the results of his good-intentioned meddling.

Legam shook his head, obviously brushing aside those thoughts. Good. Leliana grew tired of dragging him out of his constant worrying sometimes. That the mage could do it on his own more often was a good sign.

Tapping his staff on the stone floor again, the Rivaini mage continued, "I know you dislike confrontation, Alistair – I still hate it, myself, but… I think with some important issues like these, you need to put your foot down. Letting Anora run things from day-to-day is fine; she's a competent and, for the most part, a just ruler. But you're on that throne too, and I didn't just prop you up there half-arsed. You have a strong sense of justice and duty." Legam narrowed his green eyes, "I expect you to put them to use more often than just the occasional mingling with the common folk. You've been on the throne for a few years now. Make that familiarity and understanding _count_ for something, dammit."

Time to drive the point home while lightening the air with jest. Leliana cut in, "Best listen to your Warden Commander, else he might turn you into a toad."

The two men chuckled, relaxing a little, "Mn. I'd rather not have that. I thought my fears of toad transformations were over when Morrigan snuck off." Alistair rubbed his neck. "You're right, you're right… I need to dig my heels in more."

"Why don't you bring Shianni with you next time the topic is debated amongst the bannorn?" Leliana grinned, "We know she's not afraid to speak up for herself and the elves."

Alistair's second laugh rang louder than his earlier chortle. "That is rather an understatement." His smile softened, appreciative. "Thanks you two. I knew there was a reason I still call on you."

Legam stood, knowing their meeting drew to an end, "Any time, my friend." He embraced the other man, patting him on the back before pulling away. "And again –" the mage grinned sheepishly as Leliana took her turn to hug Alistair, "I apologize for making you king."

"And I never get tired of hearing it." Alistair smirked, then cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sure you're both busy. You should probably find Zevran and Benjamin before they terrorize the household. Last time you left them alone here, didn't Schmooples nearly end up in the cook's stew pot?"

Leliana scowled, "Ugh, don't remind me. Poor Schmooples wouldn't go near vegetables for almost a week, he was so frightened." She took hold of Legam's free hand, tugging it, "Come, let's make sure they're not causing another ruckus."

Legam chuckled, letting Leliana lead him out of the room. He turned back to Alistair once more, raising his staff slightly in farewell.

The king waved back, shaking his head. Only that couple could turn his mind from a serious political dilemma to jest in such a short time. Watching them turn the corner hand-in-hand, he hoped that never changed.

* * *

Leliana shivered, wrapping her cloak tighter around her shoulders, the wind biting at her exposed face and fingers. Its chillier temperature reminded the bard winter lay only a few weeks away. She shrugged, ignoring the cold beyond the thought – her attention focused elsewhere. Currently, she stood atop a grassy hill, overlooking the sunset and the outline of the village below. Sparse and still under some reconstruction, Leliana nonetheless knew the place well. After all, she spent two life changing years at its old Chantry: Lothering.

During the Blight, the darkspawn had overrun the small village, slaughtering all unfortunates unable to leave in time. Thankfully, many of its former residents and refugees did escape, and returned a year later to begin rebuilding. The new Lothering housed only a few homes, a tavern barely the size of Dane's Refuge, and a new Chantry.

The Chantry. It still impressed Leliana the townsfolk managed to reconstruct it quite close to the original, especially since the darkspawn burned it to the ground in their raid. From what she heard, it was the very first thing they revived, along with the tavern. She supposed that made sense – chantries were often places of shelter, of faith. Building it back up first probably boosted morale.

Sighing, Leliana closed her eyes, focusing on the faint melodies of the Chant emanating from the temple. She smiled softly, recalling her days of peace and contemplation as a lay sister. One that she left to help Legam and Alistair against the Blight. The bard opened her eyes again, pursing her lips. Why had Legam brought them here, anyway? Though the mage had left the Wardens in any official capacity earlier in the year, it seemed their little group always wandered about on affairs of state or informal inspections of Ferelden's reviving countryside.

She understood needing to stop for the night, but there were several towns less out of their way than Lothering. Not to mention with the village so close by, it made more sense to stay at the tavern or Chantry, rather than rough it. But Legam insisted they camp near this hill. Zevran had shrugged, helping the mage unload while Benjamin trotted off into the woods, likely looking for small game. Though the Mabari often left his kills too tarnished to salvage much meat, at least the Antivan's cooking was better than Alistair's.

"Zevran's almost finished with dinner," Legam's soft voice shook Leliana from her musings, startling her a bit. She turned, spotting the mage walking up beside her.

"You've gotten a lot quieter when you move."

Legam chuckled, "Hardly. I still make a lot of noise. You were simply distracted. Something on your mind, my dear? Besides wondering if Schmooples got his dinner – he did." He winked teasingly, leaning against his staff.

Leliana rolled her eyes, but grinned nonetheless, "Thank you for that, but no… I am not concerned about my nug's food supply at the moment." She shrugged, "I was simply wondering why we're here, and why we don't just stay in town when we're so close."

Legam shifted his weight from foot to foot, indicating some degree of nervousness. His voice remained deceptively steady, "Hm. I suppose it does seem odd. I do have my reasons, though." The mage altered his balance again, standing up straighter. "Five years ago the darkspawn ravaged this village. I thought it would be… encouraging… to see it in its early stages of rebirth. It's good to see the country healing after all the devastation."

"True. It's reassuring to see reminders that we're actually making a difference, yes?" Leliana agreed, "But… Could we not see such things better if we walked into town?"

"We could see the details, yes," Legam conceded, "However, from a distance I think there's a better…" He gestured his arms apart, motioning to the expanse of Lothering, "… Perspective of it as a whole if we see it from a distance. This hill offers a good view."

"Another good point." Leliana nodded, then raised an eyebrow, "And I gather that you have another?"

To this, Legam rubbed his neck sheepishly. "Well… It's rather sentimental, isn't it?"

Her eyebrow rose higher, appearing to almost disappear into her hairline, "Sentimental?"

Legam bit his lip, thinking, "Well, aside from you spending two years of your life here…" He looked over at the new tavern, falling quiet. Leliana noticed a faint blush spread across his cheeks. He coughed to clear his throat, careful to keep his gaze on Lothering and not the woman beside him. "It's… Hrm. It's where we first met. Hardly under ideal circumstances mind you, but… Places like that tend to hold a special meaning in some way, don't they?"

An amused, touched smile spread across Leliana's face. "I suppose it does. That's very sweet of you to think about such, Legam. But I wonder… What brought this train of thought on?"

Legam turned to her, snapping and pointing his fingers as if remembering a long-forgotten detail, "And that brings about my final reason. We–"

Whatever the former Warden intended to say next never came, for a startled squirrel dashed underneath the mage's robes, breaking him out of his thoughts. "What–?"

Again nature interrupted the mage. Likely pursuing the fleeing squirrel, Benjamin bounded into the clearing, plowing straight into the back of Legam's legs. Knocked off his feet, the Rivaini man fell forward, slamming into the side of the hill.

Leliana tried to pull him back up, but momentum kept him moving out of her reach. She cringed, biting her lip as she watched the mage tumble downhill, crashing through brambles and underbrush until he finally came to a stop at the bottom. The bard covered her mouth with her hands, horrified.

Realizing what happened, Benjamin flattened his ears, whining apologetically as he followed the Orlesian's gaze to spot Legam's curled up form dozens of feet below them.

Biting her lip again, concerned, Leliana broke the awkward silence, "Legam… Are you all right?"

A low, agonized groan responded from below. "Bad… dog…" it wheezed – pained, but otherwise intact, "Very… bad… dog…" Benjamin whined dejectedly in response, while Leliana put a hand to her chest and breathed a sigh of relief.

An hour and several limping steps later, the group reached Lothering's Chantry. Legam's fall injured his left leg enough that he couldn't walk on it, and resorted to leaning on Leliana and Zevran for support. To the elf's credit, he quickly dashed to Legam's aid once Leliana informed him of the accident. The entire trip, however, consisted of his laughter once the situation was explained in full detail.

They entered the rebuilt temple and were led to a small room reserved for the town's sick and injured. An examination by the sisters revealed what the three friends already suspected – a sprained ankle, plus some bruises and small cuts. The priests bandaged what injuries required tending, and offered Legam a spare bed to recuperate over the next few days. They extended the invitation to the others, though Zevran politely declined.

"Your offer is most kind, sisters," he said, "but it has been some time since I have enjoyed a good drink. I think I shall stay at the tavern, at least for tonight."

"As you wish," a younger sister nodded, "The Chantry is always open if you change your mind." She and her fellow priests departed.

Stretching and grinning, Zevran turned to the bedridden Legam.

"I swear, my friend," the Antivan assassin grinned, looking at his male comrade, "The Maker does so enjoy making your life interesting, does he not?"

"I do tend to receive curses and blessings in equal, rotating measure," Legam grumbled. "But I try to focus on the blessings more."

His friend chuckled, shaking his head, "Well, unless you need something, I shall head out to the tavern." The elf looked down at the mabari, "Do you wish to accompany me?"

Benjamin looked to Legam, eyes pleading. The mage chuckled.

"It's all right. I know it was an accident. You don't have to stick by me all night. Go with Zevran and enjoy some extra table scraps."

The dog barked, wagging his tail happily.

"See you two in the morning, then. Don't let any assassins creep up on you, now. Unless they're me, of course." Zevran grinned, retreating from the room with Benjamin.

Leliana shook her head, scratching Schmooples behind the ear as she turned to face Legam, "I just hope those two don't inadvertently destroy the tavern."

"Eh, I think we can chance a night or two without supervising them." Legam snickered, "Otherwise, how can they grow up and become big boys?"

The bard laughed. "I suppose so." She paused, running a hand through her hair, "So, how are you feeling?"

"Sore, but otherwise fine." Legam shrugged. "It makes me miss Wynne all the more, but I've endured far worse injuries than this. My dignity's the only thing that might never recover."

Leliana grinned, patting his hand reassuringly, "Don't worry. Your dignity too has suffered much over the years. I'm sure it's quite resilient."

He laughed, then held his side painfully, "Ow…" The mage sighed, leaning the back of his head into his pillow and running a hand over his forehead and through his hair. "This is not how I wanted today to go."

"Well, I'm fairly certain nobody _wants_ to fall down a hill and sprain their ankle."

"Funny." He smirked a little, hand dropping back to his side. "But I meant… Oh, nevermind."

She leaned forward in her chair, causing Schmooples to squeak in protest, hopping off her lap, "What's wrong? Is this about our interrupted conversation? You can finish what you meant to say, if you wish."

Legam bit his lip, thinking, "Well, it's just that this isn't really…" He sighed again, looking up at the ceiling. Contemplating it for a moment, he smiled slowly, shaking his head. "Then again, maybe it's just as appropriate here, considering."

Leliana raised an eyebrow, wondering perhaps if his fall had rattled his brain a little – he wasn't making much sense. Still, she waited for him to continue.

"We've traveled together for many years now," Leliana noticed he continued to focus on the ceiling, and not on her. Her eyebrow rose.

"We've been through countless adventures and dangers – several as grand as your favorite tales. We've become great friends and more…" His hand covered hers, though Legam still kept his gaze averted from the bard's. "Like many couples and old friends, we have our share of squabbles, and sometimes you frustrate me so much I can't think straight."

Leliana smiled sheepishly at this. Even Legam had limits to withstanding her chattiness. Once in a while she simply did not have the patience to deal with his brooding. And sometimes they broke out into argument when they could not agree to disagree. Thankfully, these moments were few and far between – a point which the mage made next.

"But, for each of those frustrating moments, there are ten more where you keep my head on straight, bolster my confidence so that I know I can deal with the burdens of my duties." He turned to meet her eyes, "Yet at the same time, you remind me I'm only human, and don't let my faults or errors rule my life after difficult decisions."

The mage broke his gaze to look down, moving his free hand to a pouch tied to his belt. Opening it, he reached inside and pulled a closed fist out, hiding the contents. His eyes focused on his hand as he continued, "There's no one else I can think of to remain at my side for the rest of my days – however many or few they may be – and I thought, well… Maybe we could make sentiments like that more…" His cheeks tinged pink and he coughed. Legam opened his hand to reveal a simple, elegant ring with a small polished topaz stone set in the center. "… Official?"

Leliana stared at the jewelry, the reality and weight of his proposal slowly settling in.

Nervous at her silence, Legam began rambling, "I mean, I know people generally only get married to unite families and produce children, and the taint ensures I'm practically sterile but I figure the gesture is more symbolic than traditional so if you don't want to do it I perfectly understa– "

Her lips pressed against his, cutting off his blabbering.

When she pulled away several moments later, Legam grinned stupidly, breathless and quite pleased. "I suppose I should take that as a 'yes,' then?"

Leliana giggled, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him once more in reply.

* * *

The next years saw many more worries, struggles, and heartache for the mage and his bard. Though Legam officially left the Grey Warden order, he continued battling darkspawn when they crossed paths. Helping rebuild Ferelden and the Circle kept them quite busy, and they watched many friends come and go. Through it all, Leliana remained by his side, if not always physically, then in heart. Duty sometimes kept the couple separated for days, weeks… A few times even months. Yet they always returned to one another, ever supportive, ever imperfect, yet ever content despite whatever woes plagued them.

Legam contemplated this as he sat at his desk late in the night – one of the few moments in the day he spared for only himself. He looked down at his notes – diagrams and equations on the combustible properties of marsh flora. Something about controlled heat to isolate active reagents or whatnot. He didn't remember the precise reasons as sleepiness began to gnaw at him. Legam pushed the papers aside, deciding to ponder the advantages of burning things tomorrow. The mage rubbed his temple, fingers brushing past the growing grey streak in his otherwise dark hair.

He craned his neck, looking over at his bed and to his peacefully slumbering wife. Normally they turned in for the day together, but sometimes the bard succumbed to sleep before he finished his personal work. Legam smiled, watching her dream. Though well into middle age, Leliana remained lovely.

The few wrinkles that inevitably formed from aging only complimented her, he felt. Despite their years of pressing concerns, her lines attesting to laughter and smiles far outnumbered signs of stress. He chuckled a bit, knowing his own face bore more than a few worry lines. Streaks of grey patterned her once completely red locks, which now fell to her shoulders. Leliana claimed that as much as she missed waist-length hair from her days in Orlais, she didn't have the time to maintain anything longer than what she currently kept.

Thirty years. This spring marked three long decades since they first crossed paths to fight against the Blight. Sometimes Legam felt as though twice that amount passed, but at others he pondered how three decades managed to slip by so quickly. He frowned a little, wondering how many more years the taint would grant him. So far, his health remained good for a slightly overweight, often overworked man of his age. And no darkspawn dreams yet returned when he slept. In fact, he suffered no taint-driven nightmares since the year or so after the Blight ended. Good signs, but ones that could change abruptly.

Legam sighed, standing up. No use in worrying about that right now. He stretched and blew out the candle on his desk. Already in his nightclothes and well-versed in navigating his room in the dark, the mage crawled into bed beside his wife. Leliana stirred slightly, his movements breaking her out of her slumber, if only a little. Eyes still shut, she mumbled an incoherent question.

The mage wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Resting his head against her shoulder, Legam pecked her on the neck affectionately.

"Sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to wake you, Leli. Just go back to sleep." She mumbled again, the slurring of her words showing she was already taking his advice. Legam smiled warmly, his eyelids drooping. No, now was certainly not a time to stress about the taint. Whatever little time he had left, he should enjoy each moment of it – especially the simple pleasures such as falling into a good night's sleep with his beloved bard in his arms.

At that thought, slumber claimed him completely, his smile remaining and his uncertainties pushed aside for another day.

* * *

_Whew, that was a doozy to write. Kept getting stuck on where I wanted to go next… What to include, what to exclude, what to elaborate, what to leave vague… There originally was going to be a lot more in this chapter, but as I wrote, I found it felt too long and made the story drag. Besides, some of what I originally intended for this chapter can easily be covered in the next, so I chose to go that route. Hopefully this chapter doesn't feel __**too**__ all over the place. Sigh._

_Only one more chapter to go!_


	12. Late Winter

For a man who hated conflict, Legam certainly found himself on one form of battlefield or another quite often. Darkspawn, bandits, blighted animals, abominations, demons, dwarves, werewolves, slavers, elves, blood mages, dragons, politics… If he so wished, the mage could probably write a codex several hundred pages long detailing his experience in combat, both with swords and wit. In fact, writing a book would be a nice reprieve from all the conflict.

The mage sighed, hands tightening their hold on his staff. The last thing he wished to dwell on was a calmer life than the one he led. And it wasn't as if he experienced no joy or peace at all – for all the moments of struggle duty brought him, there were just as many others of humor and happiness with his friends and family.

Family. The thought brought a smile to his aging face. Legam was certain most considered his family rather odd, to say the least. A Rivaini mage, an Orlesian bard, an Antivan assassin, a mabari, and a dwarf were hardly the makeup of an average Ferelden household.

Legam's smile widened when the dwarf crossed his mind. The lad was nearing adulthood, and no doubt Leliana's training in the roguish arts would serve him well in the coming years.

Though most other humans found the notion rather strange, Legam never once hesitated to think of the dwarf as his own son in every way but blood. The mage recalled the day he and Leliana came across a dwarven babe during a Deep Roads excursion. Noting the brand of Orzammar's casteless fresh upon his cheek – the blood barely caked around the inked symbol – the two humans understood instantly why this unfortunate baby was abandoned, left to die.

They didn't intend to take him in, not permanently. They simply did not wish to see an innocent child suffer such a fate due to shortsighted traditions. But by the time Legam and Leliana found a surface-dwelling dwarven family willing to adopt the child, they realized they couldn't bear to part with him.

And so the mage and bard adopted the dwarf themselves, naming him "Jowan" after Legam's ill-fated companion, as a reminder everyone deserves a second chance. The taint in Legam made it difficult for the couple to conceive their own offspring, and so they viewed the unexpected entrance of Jowan into their lives as the Maker's blessing.

However unusual his roots, Jowan adapted well to life amongst humans, picking up Leliana's subtle wit and Legam's bookish leanings. By his early teens, the young dwarf also began to develop Zevran's ribald sense of humor, much to the humans' mixed dismay and amusement. They were an odd family indeed, but happy as they were.

Legam stroked his beard as he continued trekking through the empty, ominous stone passages. He wondered how his family fared without him there. His departure was rather abrupt, and far more permanent than his previous ventures from home.

The nightmares had returned.

They actually came months ago, but Legam resisted the taint and its call for as long as he could. While never quite in peak physical condition, even the mage could tell that his health was rapidly deteriorating, his mind starting to lose its edge for reasons other than age. Mentally, Legam counted off the passage of time since his Joining. Thirty-four years. Longer than most Wardens, though he wondered if Avernus' research contributed to that.

The ancient Warden made much progress in his research to alter the taint's fatal consequences while still retaining its advantages. The old mage succeeded – before he died, he discovered an alternate formula for the darkspawn blood in the Joining. Unfortunately, this solution only helped new Wardens undergoing the ritual for the first time. If current Wardens consumed it, the best it did was to further slow the taint's spread.

Legam sighed. Perhaps if he had allowed Avernus to continue his research in the same cold, brutal manner, the elder mage could have discovered a solution for older Wardens. However, the Rivaini did not regret his decision to force Avernus to change the nature of his experiments. The ends did not always justify the means, even if he had to pay the price for it personally.

And so Legam accepted his inevitable demise. Well, strictly speaking, everyone answered Death's call eventually – his merely came earlier than some. Still, at fifty-seven years old, the Rivaini mage enjoyed a lifespan longer than many others, and a full life at that. His main concerns at this point were twofold.

Though he formally left the order many, many years ago, Legam chose to carry out the Grey Warden tradition and venture into the Deep Roads to fight darkspawn until his final breath. He hated that his death must come so violently, but it felt preferable to slowly going mad or… Worse. Legam shivered, brushing aside such musings. Besides, at least by battling the darkspawn he did something helpful in his final moments. Better than wasting away in a bed somewhere.

Legam's lips pulled down into a contemplative frown. His other worry concerned his family. They knew all too well his Calling would come one day, but not when. Unable to cause them distress, Legam kept his ailing health secret.

Leliana knew, regardless.

His wife could always read his unspoken language – his eyes, breath, body movements – as clearly as any tome. She never said anything, but he could tell. Legam interpreted her signals just as well as she did his. Every kiss, every hug, every greeting, every pause… They all held an undercurrent of knowing trepidation, of barely concealed sorrow. She knew the Calling beckoned him. Though they understood his fate as a Grey Warden long before they even became lovers, neither could bring themselves to approach the subject now that it drew so near.

Legam paused in his stride, rubbing his chest as guilt seeped into his heart. Knowing he could no longer put off the Calling, he had made preparations back home, and like his illness, he made them in secret. The mage didn't even concoct an excuse to leave Denerim. His family had no inkling he intended to leave the city that day, let alone travel across the country.

He treated the day prior to his departure as any other – organizing notes on magic, meeting with Shianni to discuss alienage affairs, helping Jowan with his history lessons, playing with Todd – his current Mabari and second generation of Benjamin spawn – reminiscing with Zevran, exchanging teasing wits with Leliana… Visiting Alistair's grave at the royal palace. His old friend answered the Calling a few years prior, and so honoring the king's memory became daily ritual for the Rivaini mage.

Truly, nothing out of the ordinary from his daily patterns. Well, almost nothing out of the ordinary. Legam smiled wistfully. He suspected Leliana recognized the subtle shifts in his demeanor during their lovemaking. His touches lingering longer, his kisses more desperate, his absolute refusal to part from her arms for even a second before succumbing to sleep… Legam held few doubts Leliana did not understand that was their final night together. Even so, she never questioned him.

That only made waking up the next day all the more difficult. Never before did Legam's body feel so heavy as that morning, slowly withdrawing himself from his wife's embrace, careful not to wake her. He dressed quickly and silently. It felt like such a cliché, a cop out – a departing note with his explanations and apologies his only farewell to the one woman who supported him throughout his adult life. But he knew no other way to leave. If he spoke to her, she might try to join him in battle – and as much as he wanted her company, Legam couldn't ask her to watch him die, or risk her life when Jowan still needed her. Besides, he suspected if he talked to her, he'd lose his nerve and find himself unable to leave home at all.

Cliché or not, he left the letter, pausing only a moment to gaze upon the bard one last time. Still sleeping peacefully, Leliana curled her body against the bed's warm sheets. Legam hesitated. Warily reaching a hand out, he brushed his fingers against her cheek. She stirred at his touch, but did not wake. Legam reluctantly withdrew, grabbing his staff and walked lead-footed out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

He continued walking, each step just as difficult and resigned as the last. Legam shortened his journey by traveling with various merchant and diplomatic caravans. Using his connections established during his Warden and king counseling days held certain advantages. The mage reached the Frostback Mountain in a week, departing on foot once more before the caravan reached Orzammar.

While the most obvious entrance to the Deep Roads lay in the dwarven city, he avoided the metropolis when possible, as it only reminded him of all the unpleasant affairs there during the Blight. Though most dwarves respected him as a darkspawn slayer, his support of Harrowmont all those years back led to a great stagnation of dwarven society. Few blamed him for it, but Legam felt guilty all the same.

No, Orzammar wouldn't do. For the past several years, Legam had tracked down and studied what few copies of Deep Road maps he could procure. From his research, he learned of several lesser known entrances. Never one to want the spotlight yet often finding himself blinded by it anyway, Legam felt the humble entrances rather fitting to his tastes.

Finding one of these entrances several hours prior, Legam inhaled deeply and stepped downward into the dark. Now he trekked the winding passages alone, his feet echoing against the unfeeling cavern walls. Even lost in his self-reflections, the mage kept a wary eye and ear open for any approaching darkspawn, deep stalkers, thaig crawlers, or any other deadly creature that called the caverns its home. Nothing ambushed him yet, but the fact consoled Legam very little. In some ways, the calm wracked his nerves further, to where the mage almost wished –

A grunting, inhuman cackle taunted the mage from the road ahead. Readying his staff, Legam froze in place, scanning the area. Before long, he spotted the charging hurlock – and its dozens of genlock allies rushing behind it. The mage smiled grimly. Finally, some darkspawn. Magic coursed through his body, past his hands and channeled into his staff as Legam prepared his mind and body for combat one more time.

~*~*~

Legam grunted, swinging his staff diagonally to deflect the hurlock's blade. How many darkspawn did he slaughter already? A dozen? A few hundred? How long had he been fighting? A few minutes? A few hours? Mind hazy from exhaustion, the mage knew none of the details anymore. He barely retained enough energy to cast the simplest spells.

The hurlock's arm flew aside, successfully repelled by Legam's staff. Quickly compensating, the darkspawn clenched its free hand into a fist and threw a punch. Its knuckles connected with Legam's jaw, temporarily blinding the man from the impact. The mage stumbled back, dazed. Seizing the opportunity, the hurlock swung its sword downward.

The Rivaini heard the all-too familiar sword swish and hopped back several paces. Not quite far or fast enough. He yelled in pain as he felt the sword's edge bite into his flesh, opening up a long, bloody line across his stomach. Another step or two and the blow would have eviscerated him. Panting, Legam thrust a hand forward, flames erupting from his palm. Unprepared, the hurlock shrieked as the fire engulfed it.

Legam's vision finally began coming back into focus, watching the doomed darkspawn retreat, the scent of burning flesh assailing the mage's nostrils. He grunted in pain, leaning against his staff for support and clutching his abdominal wound. One more down, but how many more remained? He suspected the gash across his stomach was deep enough to kill him, but shallow enough to let him press forward a little while longer before he bled out.

Forcing himself to keep his eyes open, Legam scanned the caverns. Further away, another hurlock began charging. He might be able to freeze it before it got too close, but… The mage squinted, peering beyond the rushing darkspawn. Was that a genlock? Yes, he believed it was. But was it an emissary, an alpha, or perhaps a –

An arrow thudded into his chest, too low for his heart and too shallow to pierce his lungs – but deep and painful all the same.

Sod it. An archer. Legam stumbled again, barely keeping his feet steady. His eyesight wavering once more, he clenched his teeth and focused on the genlock. Gathering the final vestiges of willpower, the mage fired one last spell. A glowing green, ethereal fist manifested from his fingertips, flying past the oncoming hurlock and slamming into the genlock. The magical stone fist knocked the darkspawn on to its back.

Grasping his wounded belly once again, Legam fell to one knee, his staff's support the only thing preventing him from collapsing completely. The Rivaini felt blood fill his mouth and he coughed, pain shooting through his body when the action disturbed his injuries. Warm, coppery liquid seeped past his lips. Slowly raising his head, Legam saw the hurlock closing the last few yards between them, axe at the ready.

This was it, the end of it all. He had no energy to block the oncoming blow, let alone the power to conjure another spell. Still, he refused to die indignantly. Legam met the darkspawn's eyes, glowering defiantly even as the hurlock raised its axe to strike.

An arrow slammed into the hurlock's chest, halting its charge. Before the creature could find the source of attack, two more missiles struck it – one into its throat, the other embedding itself deeply into its left eye. The hurlock gurgled and slumped to the stone ground, dead. Surprised, Legam turned his head, spotting a familiar set of studded leather armor and a head of graying red hair.

"Leli…?" the mage coughed. Instead of replying, the bard raised her bow again. Legam's eyes rolled to his peripherals, spotting the genlock archer in the distance. It slowly rose to its feet, recovering from Legam's stone fist.

An arrow plunged into its skull, sending the darkspawn back to the ground. This time, it did not rise again.

His breathing shallow, Legam weakly craned his neck to face his wife. "What are you… I'm… supposed…"

Leliana knelt down in front of him, quickly rummaging through a pouch strapped to her belt. "Oh, hush," she chided with a tone of mixed amusement and forcefulness, "I am an adult and can make my own choices."

"But you can't… It's…" He coughed, feeling more blood rise in his throat, "… Dangerous, Leli…"

"I don't intend to die here, if that's what you're thinking." She snipped as she continued to rummage. "Aha!" The bard pulled out a small glass vial filled with bright red liquid – a healing poultice. The Orlesian uncorked the top and presented it to her husband, "Here, drink this."

Legam's fingers brushed against the container before feebly pushing it aside. "Leli, I can't. If I don't…" Another short coughing fit struck him, "… die now, the taint will… Just…" He hacked again, blood gurgling at the back of his throat.

Leliana practically shoved the poultice into his blood-splattered face, "Drink it," she commanded, though her features quickly softened and she lowered her tone, "It won't… It's not enough to heal you. It's just to give you enough strength to walk a little while longer."

He arched an eyebrow, but before he could voice another query, Leliana pushed the lip of the vial against his mouth, "Please, just do it."

Too tired to argue further, Legam took the vial, Leliana helping him lean his head back to drink it. He coughed again as it settled in his stomach. Soon, he felt some of his wounds slow their bleeding and weave slightly closed. Leliana spoke true, however – while the potion revived some of his endurance, it did far too little to make his injuries any less fatal.

The bard eyed the arrow protruding from his chest. Carefully, she wrapped her fingers around the missile and gave a small, testing tug. It barely budged, but Legam hissed in pain. Leliana frowned.

"I think it's lodged between your ribs. I can't remove it."

"Leave it, then." Legam grunted. Leliana bit her lip.

"Do you think you can still walk?"

Legam slowly rose, balancing back onto his feet unsteadily. He leaned against his staff, barely able to stand. "Not… far… And slowly, perhaps, but… Yes, with your help I… Think I can."

Leliana carefully wrapped an arm around his waist, and gently slung one of his arms around her own midsection. He took a few testing steps, putting most of his weight on his wife and staff. With effort and her support, the mage slowly moved forward.

As they walked, Leliana guided their steps down a narrow passageway. Legam leaned his head against her shoulder, exhausted. She carried most of their weight, but the Orlesian never complained.

They walked in silence for several moments, before Legam found breath to speak again. He opened his mouth, but Leliana interrupted him before the first syllables formed on his tongue.

"Don't waste the last ounces of your strength asking questions," she chided. "I know what you must be thinking, so just let me speak."

He managed a low, weak chuckle in concession.

"First, I'm here because I want to be," she began, her tone daring him to protest. "I have no intentions of dying alongside you, but I refuse to let you leave this world alone."

An appreciative smile tugged at the corners of Legam's lips as he let the bard continue.

"And really…" Leliana allowed herself a smile smirk of her own, "Did you honestly not expect me to find you if I wished? My tracking skills are still quite good. The difficult part was convincing Zevran to stay in Denerim to look after Jowan." She chuckled softly, "Besides, you're not the only one who studied the Deep Road maps."

His eyebrow quirked. Those papers were kept in his study, sealed away for only his eyes. How did she…?

Knowing his source of befuddlement, Leliana's smirk briefly spread into a full on grin, "Really, my dear… You should install better locks on your private document chests. I may be a bit rusty in my lock picking skills, but I'm not that out of practice."

He chuckled again. Damn sneaky rogues.

"As for why we're walking," Leliana turned them around a corner, her tone serious again, "There is an exit to the surface nearby."

"But… Wardens kill darkspawn in the Dee –" He began to protest, his voice raspy. She didn't let him continue.

"– And you slew more than your share already, judging from the bodies I came across." Her eyes narrowed, spotting a few faint rays of sunlight in the distance. "And you suffer mortal wounds. The darkspawn may take your life, but I refuse…"

Her voice cracked and the bard paused, regaining her composure. "I… refuse to let them take your body to desecrate like Cailain's, or worse…" Leliana looked down at her feet, her eyes squeezing shut. She inhaled deeply, then released a calmed breath, "You deserve better. You should see the Maker's light here on Thedas one last time, before you…" She steadied her voice again, "… Before you join His side."

Andraste's sacred ashes, he adored this woman. "I… love you, Leli." Her hand holding his arm in place around her shoulders gave his fingers an affectionate squeeze.

The light ahead spread wider and glowed brighter, revealing the promised exit. The two emerged from the caverns and onto the grassy surface. Both squinted, their eyes adjusting to the sunlight.

Legam forced his feet forward along a nearby path, walking some hundred more paces before his knees buckled. Feeling his balance waver, Leliana let go of his arm and grasped his other side, carefully lowering the wounded mage to the ground. She seated herself on the grass, bringing her husband's head and shoulders into her lap.

The mage rested his left hand upon his chest, near the arrow. He gazed up at her, a small apologetic smile on his bloodied lips, "I'm sorry… Guess that's as… far as I'm going."

Leliana returned his sad smile, placing one hand atop of his, the other stroking his graying hair. "That's all right. It's plenty far."

They fell into a comfortable silence, Leliana stroking his hair and Legam staring up into the sky. He enjoyed the view and the warm rays of sunlight on his skin. As far as death by darkspawn-induced injuries went, he supposed this was one of the more pleasant ones. Though pain still wracked his body and he felt his life force slowly ebbing away, the mage also felt a sense of tranquility and contentment. Another small smile spread across his lips. Leave it to Leliana to bring him peace, even now.

His thumb weakly ran across her fingertips. "You know," he rasped, "A certain… song… comes to mind." Leliana looked down at him inquisitively. "_In Uthenera._" He clarified.

She smiled sadly, and Legam thought he caught a glint of water in her eye, "That is… rather appropriate, I suppose…"

He turned his head to the side, resting his cheek against her stomach. "Well…" He sighed. "Not just… for this, but…" He paused, trying to find a brief explanation. "Do you… remember the first time you… sang it to me?"

"After resolving the conflict with the werewolves and Dalish?" She asked. He nodded, barely. "Of course. What of it?"

"It was then…" He grimaced as pain shot through his torso. It passed, and he continued, "when I realized… that I was… in love with you." Legam leaned his head further into her stomach, growing more tired by the moment.

She stared down at him, momentarily at a loss for words – stuck between amusement and flattery at his typical sappiness. Finally, the bard wiped a tear from her eye, chuckling, "Silly boy…"

He merely muttered in reply, and Leliana noticed how much his breathing had slowed. She bit her lower lip, thinking. Inhaling to refocus her composure once more, she asked, "Would you… wish to hear it one last time?"

"'Be nice," he muttered against her abdomen.

"Very well. I'm afraid there's no music to accompany it this time though," she joked, attempting to keep her tone light. The bard began humming the familiar tune, recalling the elven lyrics.

Legam focused the last reserves of his energy listening to his wife sing the elven lament. He closed his eyes, relaxing to their mournful, yet beautiful melody.

"_In uthenera na revas._" His pain subsided, forgotten.

"_Vir sulahn'nehn… Vir dirthera._" A fog drifted over his mind, much like the sensation from consuming enough lyrium to enter the Fade. All that remained was her voice, her singing.

"_Vir samahl la numin. Vir lath sa'vunin…_" Even her voice drifted away, a wave of serenity flowing through his mind. Then, nothing.

Leliana finished singing, her voice trailing off with the last few notes. She sighed, looking down at her quiet husband. "Legam…?" No response. The bard moved a hand to his jaw, gently turning his head away from her stomach to face the sky. She saw and felt no pulse, no breath.

Despite all her preparations for this moment, profound sorrow gnawed at her heart. Warm, wet tears flowed down her cheeks. Leliana rubbed her eyes, attempting to clear her vision. She looked upon his face once more, and even through her sadness, she felt a twinge of relief.

For all the pain he undoubtedly suffered through, Legam's face bore only contentment – his eyes relaxed shut, a small, tranquil smile drawn across his lips. Leliana felt her mouth form its own sad smile. She leaned down, softly pressing her lips against his forehead in a parting kiss. Somehow, she found her voice.

"Be at peace at last, my Grey Warden."

In her heart, she believed he was.

~*~*~

_And that wraps it up. Seasons of Love is finished. I'm such a dork, I made myself a bit teary writing this. That's got to be some form of sappiness or narcissism, I think…_

_All jesting aside, I hope you enjoyed. If you felt the ending was a downer, I tend to think of it this way: Legam's life was full of struggle, one way or another. Part of it due to circumstance, part of it his own tendency to worry and regret. Throughout his life after the Blight, Leliana helped keep him happy. And in the end, she finally brought him complete peace and contentment, which is all he really wanted. I tend to think of that as a happy ending in and of itself._

_Is this the last I'll write of them? Honestly, I don't know. Just because I covered the Calling doesn't mean I can't write about things prior. It really depends on if the muse hits. For certain, I will continue drawing them. I already have a short oneshot I wrote about teenaged Legam and Jowan that I wrote to accompany a fan art. I might post that up on here._

_If you haven't been following my fan art, on the Bioware Social Network I'm DalishRanger and on deviantART I'm hollychan. I draw a LOT of fan art for them, so if you enjoyed this series, I suggest you check it out. I draw better than I write. :P_

_Welp, that's all. Reviews and feedback is highly appreciated, but as always, never required. See you 'round the Dragon Age fandom!_


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